The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1
by SGreenD
Summary: Alternatively titled "The Understudy". Instead of killing Devil, Boyd sent him away to Frankfort, to work undercover for Quarles. This is Devil's story of his time in Frankfort, meeting people, taking lives, and in the process almost losing his own. - Season 3 AU.
1. Chapter 1

And this is where the story begins.

I guess I have made my dislike of season 4 obvious enough, and as the season progressed and I just didn't know what to do with it, I decided the only way for me to keep writing for this beloved fandom was to start an AU. And then TellatrixForever planted this idea into my head, and a plan started to take form, of how Devil didn't die, but got sent away on an assignment.

The Prologue described this AU in snippets. Now, this right here, it's Devil's story. This is Devil's season 3, if you want. This is the story of The Understudy. It picks up right after the dialogue Boyd and Devil have at the beginning of the prologue.

I'll give specific warnings at the beginning of every chapter. Just this warning in general, though: This fic is gonna be violent, and there's gonna be a lot of explicit language. So, people who can't deal with that, should probably think twice about reading when I express certain warnings. The rating is T for now, but I might have to raise it as the story progresses.

WARNING: Descriptions of drug use.

Disclaimer: I do not own Justified, nor any of its characters, and I am not making any money with this.

Now, do enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

"Listen to me right here, Devil. It won't be forever, just a couple of months, and be my inside man. Do what you do best, son. Find people who'll help us. You know what I mean. Recruit."

"Well… you know me. People person."

* * *

Devil arrived in Frankfort, Kentucky, at four in the morning, with a hurriedly packed bag of clothes and a provisorily patched up gunshot wound in his side. He'd bought six cups of coffee-to-go at a gas station just outside of Harlan County to try and stay awake through the three-hour drive, and he'd chugged down all six of them, too, even after they'd gone cold and stale. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. Although the flaming pain from the gunshot did good in keeping him alert, as well.

The night was humid, the air felt heavy to breathe through when Devil passed through Lexington. The entire situation felt completely unreal to him, like it was someone else's life he was living right now. It was, too, kind of. Devil was not the guy one would accuse of being a traitor, never had been. He looked for someone to trust, and when he found them, he was loyal. Until he had a good reason not to be anymore. And with Boyd, he really never had had a good reason. And still, tonight, because of some big city asshole who told him the things he'd wanted to hear, he'd almost become just that.

He remembered the look in Boyd's eyes. In his rampage, pumped on adrenaline because, holy shit, he was actually doing this, Devil had mistaken the look in Boyd's eyes for fear when Devil turned the gun on him. Really, Boyd was just hurt. He'd never been afraid. Course not, if Johnny had told him everything. Then he shot at Devil, and Devil remembered the fear that he himself had felt – he'd thought that this would be it, that he would die on the floor of this bar that they'd just gotten back from the fat bastard that had stolen it from Johnny.

And it should have been the end. Devil knew that. You couldn't abide traitors in this business. But for some reason Boyd had not pulled the trigger a second time. He'd given Devil the chance to explain. In short, Boyd had given Devil his life, and Devil knew he could be thankful because, living their lives the way they did down in Harlan, re-building the criminal empire that had been nearly lost after Bo died, life was the biggest gift you could give someone, aside from money and purpose. Boyd hadn't given him any money, but he'd given him a purpose alright.

It was the one condition Boyd had had about letting Devil live: That Devil had to go to Frankfort, right now, and start working for Quarles, infiltrate the goddamned Dixie Mafia and find people who'd be willing to help, make the right friends in all the right places. And Devil was good at that. He knew how to make friends. He could do it.

The gunshot wound, meanwhile, was in equal measures punishment as well as a very convincing cover-up. If Devil showed up in Frankfort and told Quarles that he really, actually tried to do as Quarles had wanted him to and take Boyd out, it wouldn't have sufficed to deliver the message with a sorry face and not a scratch on him.

Devil had called Tanner as soon as he'd left the Harlan County line behind him, while he was getting himself the coffee, and told him the story Boyd had constructed for him. To deliver it on the phone was easy enough. Tanner swallowed everything Devil said like it was his job and told him he was really, really sorry it went down that way and that he shouldn't worry and let Tanner take care of that. Devil stood in the humid air, felt the burning in his side, and watched as some drunk hobo pissed against the only lit up street lamp in a radius of maybe half a mile, and he thought that he was more than willing to.

Tanner gave him directions to a place in Frankfort where he would be able to stay the night and told him that Tanner himself would call Quarles first thing in the morning. Devil jotted the directions onto the back of the gas station's receipt and wished he'd packed some Advil. After hanging up, he felt a little lighter that the first time he'd practiced his story everything had worked out alright. Devil got back into his truck and hit the road.

Tanner had directed him to a rundown apartment complex on West Broadway Street, and Devil thanked his good sense of navigation. In his tired state he'd almost taken the wrong turn from East Main Street, but the streets were empty so no one was there to complain when he did a u-turn on Capital Avenue and turned right instead.

He had to squint in the dark to make out the apartment number, and had to ring the bell about ten times before the door opened.

"Ey, yo, dude" the guy who opened Devil the door said in way of greeting, "chillax, would ya? It's like, 3 am."

The last time Devil had smelled so much weed had been when he himself had dealt it a couple years back. He cleared his throat.

"It's 4 am, and Tanner sends me" he said.

"Oh. 'kay then, come on in" Mr. High-as-a-kite stepped aside and let Devil in and a cloud of smoke out. Devil looked around: The apartment was dark, but from what he could see it was large and unkempt. Here were two rooms without doors where he could look in and see people sleep on the floor or on mattresses and sleeping bags. There was what could pass as a living room, with a flat screen TV and a huge corner sofa that seemed to take up half of the room and had pillows and a blanket arranged on it like it was someone's bed.

"My name's Keegan an' I'll show you where you can set up shop" Mr. High-as-a-kite said and led him through a hallway to one of the few rooms that actually had a door.

"Tanner gave me a call couple hours ago, said some guy was gonna show up and that he deserves the good guest room, with door an' bed an' separate bathroom an' everythin'" Keegan explained, "an' I'm guessin' that's you. Your name's… what's your name again?"

"Devil" Devil said and was really glad he got to sleep in an actual bed, because his side was aching fiercely still and he was not sure whether he would have survived a night in a sleeping bag.

"Devil? That's so cool, dude. You wanna bum a joint, just tell me and I'll get you some, no problem. Tanner said you deserve somethin' good cause you done somethin' really important."

"Yeah, well." Devil squirmed under Keegan's intense gaze. The curiosity was emanating off him as strongly as the weed smell.

"So. You want some? You didn't say."

"Uh, nah, thanks, man. I could use some pain killers, though. I got some… well, my side hurts like a son of a bitch."

"What happened?"

"I think that ain't none of your business, man. You got some pain killers or what?" Devil was not the most patient person on his best days. Now this Keegan guy was seriously pushing it.

"Yeah, sure. Jeez, dude. Chillax." Keegan looked slightly put off now and turned away, presumably to look for the pain pills, and Devil was just fine with it; he needed rest. Pain killers and rest, and the bathroom. Maybe if he was rude enough Keegan would leave him the hell alone.

Keegan returned with a package of Ibuprofen and tried to decipher the little writings on the side of the box. "It says here you should take only two at a time, so…"

"Yeah, thanks, awesome" Devil said and ripped the box from Keegan's hand. "So, this is my room? Alright then, I'll see you in the mornin'."

"Well, technically it's already mornin', dude…"

I don't wanna hear it, Devil thought. Just thinking about the time made him almost pass out on the spot from exhaustion and fear. It made the entire situation feel too real for comfort to think about the time, because it made Devil think about why he had been on the road for the last few hours and where he was now and why, and it turned his stomach. He couldn't stop the thoughts, though, and made it just in time to the adjoining bathroom to empty his stomach contents (which consisted of nothing but bile and coffee) into the dingy toilet.

"Are you okay, dude?" Keegan asked.

"Fuck off!" Devil couldn't even muster up the strength to yell at the guy; it was more of an angry rasping. It didn't have the hoped for effect.

"Oh man, you really gotta feel like shit, huh?" Keegan said from the door where he was leaning against the frame.

Devil sighed, leaning his forehead on his arms while crouching on the floor in front of the toilet. "No, man, it's a fuckin' party. The hell does it look like?"

"Not like much fun" Keegan stated.

"Got that right." Devil carefully sat back when he was sure he wouldn't throw up again. Must have been a spur of the moment, he thought. This night had taken a lot out of him. He felt fatigue settle over him like a rather heavy blanket, and he sagged against the shower cabinet to the left of the toilet. The cool tiles on the floor felt like heaven against his overheated body.

"Shit, dude, you're bleedin'!"

Devil heard Keegan through his blanket of fatigue and looked down at his side, and yeah, his vest had slipped to the side and he could see that he'd bled through his bandage and shirt, but he just couldn't be bothered with it. Not now. Not EVER.

"Oh yeah" Devil said dumbly. Like he could have forgotten about how the man he'd trusted and followed for the last ten years (not counting the months after Boyd's religious conversion and working in the mine when his church thing didn't work out) shot him not whole five hours ago. "That. It's, uh, not that big a… a deal."

"That the important thing you did for Tanner? That you got shot?"

"Sure" Devil said. As nice as the cool tiles felt, he needed to get up and over to the bed somehow, and chug down some of the pain killers. Oh, and he had to take a shit. He considered all of these necessities and found himself barely able to put them in the correct order.

"That's some messed up shit, dude" Keegan said with big eyes, admiring Devil's war wounds.

"It is. Now, get out, I gotta…" Devil vaguely waved at the toilet.

"Sure, dude. No biggie. Ey, let me know, you need anythin'. More pain killers, some weed, anythin' else, just tell me, alright? Tanner's my bud, if he says you did somethin' important, I'll say you're my bud, now, too."

"Awesome. Now go."

Keegan finally left the bathroom, but left the door wide open, and Devil had to fight himself back onto his feet to close it. When he exited the bath ten minutes later, though, there was a tall glass of water standing on the nightstand next to the bed that hadn't been there before. Maybe that Keegan fella was okay. A little annoying, a little high, but okay.

The room was relatively small, and the bathroom practically only a toilet, shower and sink with a door, but after Devil had closed the door to the hallway, silence fell over the room, and Devil felt himself able to relax, just a little. There was a twin size bed, a huge window through which Devil could see that the sun was already rising, and next to the window was an ugly-as-fuck wicker chair, and that was it. Devil had dropped his bag next to the bed during his sprint for the toilet, and he just left it there. Not having the energy to even take off his shoes, he just dropped onto the bed and closed his eyes.

No matter how exhausted and tired Devil was, though, he would not fall asleep. One minute his side was bothering him, then the next he was almost sleeping when the birds started tweeting and the incessant noise they made just would not let Devil rest. After some time, the sky was getting lighter and lighter already, he sat up, took five Advil and chugged them down with half of the water Keegan had left for him. He was afraid he'd throw up again if he put too much on his stomach. After that he slipped into a doze, zoning in and out of awareness, never entirely asleep, but not quite awake, either.

Then finally, he fell asleep. Devil was dreaming, and he dreamt that he was watching TV, and there was a music video on, it was Viggo Mortensen from Lord of the Rings, playing piano, singing about love (and Devil dimly wondered how he'd never known that Viggo Mortensen was a musician), and the video was pretty strange: It was about a real person, though who it was, Devil couldn't say, living in a world of puppets.

Nothing about that world was real, even the trees and the grass in the front yards were made out of plastic. Also, all the puppets were walking on stilts and therefore twice as big as the real person. And the real person wanted to escape, packed their bag, and tried to leave, but before they could, they fell through a trap door, and one of the puppets freed them from it and asked them who they were, and the person said that they came from Up-Less-World, where everything that usually should have been up was down, and that if you usually walked over something, in Up-Less-World you walked under it.

Devil jerked awake. He blinked against the sunshine that was penetrating his eyes, and thought that was what had woken him from one of the strangest fucking dreams he had ever had, but he realized it was his cell phone, vibrating against his thigh in the pocket of his pants.

He fished it out just in time.

"Hello?"

"Devil, man!" It was Tanner.

"Are you okay? Did you find the place?"

"Yeah, I did. The guy, uhm, Keegan, gave me the room with the bed. He smokes a lotta weed, huh."

"Yeah, he does, but other than that, he's cool. Houses the biggest CAG flat in Frankfort for us, so that's pretty cool, too."

"CAG flat?"

"Yeah, it's short for 'Coming And Going', cause no one ever stays there long. See, Dixie Mafia's got a lot of people workin' for 'em, but a lot of 'em are just passin' through, so they'll need a place to stay that ain't a hotel or motel where they gotta pay extra just to sleep, so we organized a bunch of apartments all throughout the city where they can stay. I sent you to the biggest one cause I knew that Keegan's the nicest guy you can find, and I called him after you called me and told him to get the big guest room ready for you."

"Oh, okay, thanks for that then." Devil carefully put his feet on the floor and sat on the side of the bed. The sun was up and his cell phone told him it was shortly after 8:30 am.

"So, you okay? Get some sleep?"

"A little, I'll be fine. You talk to Quarles?"

"Oh, yeah, I did! He, well, he sounded pissed on the phone, but he wants to talk to you. I'll give you the address for his office here and you can go pay him a visit in the next, say, three hours or somethin'. Alright?"

"Alright." Devil sighed. The fear crept back in. "You think he's gon' shoot me?"

"Uhm." Tanner faltered a little. "Well… you disappointed him, man. He ain't gonna bake you a birthday cake if you know what I'm sayin'. But… I mean, you already took a bullet for him. That's… just tell him what you told me, like you told me, an' I think you's gon' be fine."

"Sure?"

"Well, no, I ain't. The fucker's unpredictable. Just, grovel, man, make him feel sorry for you, I'd say. If there's one thing I know bout that son of a bitch, it's that he likes it when people make him feel like he's doin' 'em a big favor."

"Okay…"

"You fucked up, man, you know it. Just tell him the truth, and hope for the best."

"Alright" Devil said, wishing he could just sleep through the next few months until Boyd let him come back to Harlan. He certainly felt tired enough.

Tanner gave him the directions to Quarles's office and wished him luck before they hung up, and Devil leaned back until he was lying on the bed again, feet still on the floor, his gaze locked on the water-stained ceiling. There was mildew in the corner. Devil couldn't bring himself to care. He was dozing again, when there was a knock on the door. Devil turned his head to the side without opening his eyes.

"Hey, dude? Uh, Devil? You awake?"

"I am now, I guess. What is it?"

"Nothin', just, I heard you talkin' on the phone and thought you might want some coffee?"

Devil sighed. Tanner was right, this Keegan was a nice guy. Might as well take advantage of that while he still could.

"Some milk, no sugar, thank you."

"Comin' right up, dude!"

Devil heard muffled voices in the hallway, but he was dozing again, thinking about the strange dream he'd had. Whatever it might have meant, he felt like the normal person in the world of puppets anyway; it still seemed like this was someone else's life and he was just the understudy and didn't know his cue, nor his lines.

* * *

Devil left the apartment in the morning at about 10 am. It was unseasonably cold in Frankfort, a stark contrast to the humidity of the night, people were walking around with jackets and scarves, but Devil was sweating rivers. His side was aching something fierce, and he was a bit dizzy. The sky was covered by a thin layer of foggy clouds that the sun only barely managed to shine through which made everything look a bit hazy and tinted the entire atmosphere in an almost ethereal light; but maybe, Devil thought to himself, he was just seeing things, high from lack of sleep and breathing in the remnants of weed smoke that Keegan had filled the entire apartment with all throughout the night.

When he arrived at the building where Quarles's Frankfort "office" was located, his heart started beating faster, and the ache in his side pounded in rhythm with his pulse. Sweat was running down his back, and his hands were shaking. In a nutshell, Devil felt like shit. The elevator ride didn't do him any good either; at least outside he'd had fresh, cool air to breathe in, and the climate in the confined elevator space felt stuffy, used up, lived in. It was disgusting.

Devil barely remembered how he ended up in front of the office door, but he knocked anyway, and then waited until he could hear someone call him in.

"Devil!" Quarles gave him a big fake smile, and Devil almost vomited on the grey carpeted floor; this fake smile was so unlike Boyd's, it was almost bizarre, like a distorted mirror image of the way it was supposed to be. All blonde curls and pasty white skin instead of the hazel eyes and crazy black hair that Devil knew so well. For a moment he wondered whether he was still dreaming and had zapped himself into a special edition episode of the Twilight Zone, then Quarles started talking again.

"Well, don't stand there all day, come on in, have a seat."

Quarles pointed to the chair in front of his desk, and Devil gratefully took him up on the offer. It was more of a slumping down than sitting down, but Devil would take what he could get right now. He grimaced when the movement pulled at his side.

"Well, well" Quarles began, looking him over. "So, Tanner told me what happened last night. Such an unfortunate thing. Mh."

Devil looked at him and willed his leg to stop twitching. The situation reminded him of high school, when he sat in the principal's office waiting to find out if anybody knew it had been him who'd set off the fire alarm, or who'd watched as his friends flooded the rest rooms by stuffing bunches after bunches of toilet paper down the loos and then flushing again and again.

"It… it was, yeah" he finally said and had to clear his throat. His voice sounded strange in his own ears.

"You don't look too good either, if you don't mind me saying that."

"Don't feel too hot…" Devil blinked. Well, he was hot as hell right now. "…uhm, good."

"Can I see…" Quarles waved a hand in the vague direction of Devil's left side.

"Uhm, sure." Devil fought himself back into a standing position and pulled up his vest and t-shirt, revealing the self-made bandage that was soaked through with blood that was already drying. It really wasn't nice to look at.

"Dear Lord" Quarles said, frowning. "You should let someone take care of that."

"Nah, I'll be fine." Devil carefully sat down again, belying his words when he barely managed to suppress a moan of pain. "It's gon' be… just fine. Just need to, uh, have a lie-down and, I dunno, some painkillers maybe?"

"Yeah. We'll see." Quarles continued to study him. "I'll have one of my secretaries give you some antibiotics when you leave. You look like you got a fever."

"Oh." That thought hadn't even occurred to Devil yet. It would certainly explain why he'd thought for a moment to be in an episode of the Twilight Zone, and why he was so goddamned hot. "Yeah. Could be. Guess antibiotics would be a good idea, then."

"Of course. Now, I'd like to ask you what exactly happened. I mean, Tanner told me, but I'd like to hear you tell me again, just in case Tanner missed something. Go on."

This was it, Devil knew it, this was the test he'd been waiting for. If he managed to make it sound believable now, it would work, he'd be in. He recalled exactly the words that Boyd had told him to say. But Boyd was just such a good liar that Devil didn't know if he could make it. But he had caught himself a goddamned bullet and got away with his life; he had to try at least.

"Sure, okay. Well, I, I'd talked to Johnny, Boyd's cousin, told him we should kill Boyd because he's lost track of what's supposed to happen, and then we confronted Boyd, but… turned out Johnny's more loyal to Boyd than I'd thought, and they both turned guns on me, and then Boyd shot at me and I, I know I should've probably fired back, but, I got hit in the side and then I just… ran."

"Ran like the Devil" Quarles said and chuckled at his own stupid joke. Devil wanted to punch that pasty sag of shit in the face, but instead he tried to crook a smile.

"Yeah, like that. Just wanted to get the hell outta Harlan before word spread and I was, you know, the most wanted down there, so I packed my things and hit the road, and called Tanner when I was just outta Harlan County."

"I apologize for imploring" Quarles said, leaning forward on his desk, like a concerned school teacher. "But I would like to know why Mr. Crowder didn't aim at your chest. Or did he?"

"He might have" Devil shrugged. "I was backing off, though, already tryin' to get to the door, maybe his aim was off. He ain't the best shot, you know."

Quarles nodded, like he did in fact know about that, although Devil wouldn't have known how he did; it wasn't even true. Boyd was a good shot. Maybe not the best, not as good as Devil or his Marshal friend, but pretty good, still.

"Alright, Devil. That about accords with what Tanner told me on the phone. I'm quite sorry it went down that way, but, well, what can you do."

He still nodded to himself while saying those words, and something in his expression had changed. It clicked in Devil's mind: Jesus Christ, he'd passed. The stupid fucker had bought it.

"Now, Devil, give me one reason why I should not just go ahead and kill you."

"Well, uh… I mean, I… I know I messed up, but I just…"

"Yes?"

"Listen, I know I screwed this up." Devil shifted in his seat, both to find a more comfortable position for his side and to stop his leg from starting with the twitchy thing again. Grovel, Tanner had said. Make him feel like he's doing you a favor.

"I'm sorry, Sir. But I'm tellin' you, that was a one-time thing. I ain't gonna underestimate anyone ever again, I swear. Just…" Grovel, Devil thought, grovel! "I… I can't go back to Harlan now. Everybody's gon' be on the lookout for me now. Half of the town's under Boyd's control anyway, an' the other half, I don't think I can count on their goodwill, either. No-one likes a traitor, right? So, just…please, I ain't got nowhere else to go… to."

"And you want to stay here in Frankfort now, I presume?"

"Yeah."

"And you would like for me to give you some work."

"Yeah?"

"Devil." Quarles studied him. "Devil, Devil, Devil."

"Uhuh?"

"Devil. How'd you ever get a name like that? I reckon you didn't earn that name for nothing?"

"No, Sir."

"Well, I'd like to hear that story some time."

Over my dead body, Devil thought and looked at Quarles's disgusting, pasty, fake smile.

"Sure, some time" he said.

"Well then! I'd say you should go back to the CAG flat Tanner placed you in. I hope you got a nice guest room. Get some rest, heal a little, pick up some antibiotics from my secretary. Stay in the flat for the time being, and give me a call in, let's say three days, that should give you enough time to recover a bit. And then we'll take a look at where exactly your talents lie, and find you some work to do. That's all, you can go now."

Devil was in.

* * *

This is the first chapter of many to come. I can't say how many. Really, I got no idea. But, do believe me when I say there's a lot more where this came from.

Now, this story's obviously focussed on Devil's life in Frankfort. Boyd will make an entrance here and there on the phone. Quarles and Tanner will play a role, as will Wynn Duffy, my favorite bad guy EVER, and his supercool bodyguard Mike. The rest, they're OCs.

Tomorrow's the finale. I cannot wait for it.

Happy Easter!


	2. Chapter 2

And this is chapter 2. I have to say that, with this story, I had to cross some personal lines that I'd never crossed before, because, I am using the word "nigger". I have to, I am writing in Devil's POV, and Devil was at one point in his life an active member of the Aryan Brotherhood. The "black bastard" insults that were used in the show to weasel around the n-word don't cut it for me if I want to keep it realistic, which I do. So in this chapter it still feels kinda staged and difficult for me, but it got a little easier as the story progressed. Hence I changed very little about this chap once I had it done. I kinda like the development you can see.

WARNING: Use of the dreaded n-word.

Now, enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

Devil was on his last legs when he reached the CAG flat again. There was an entire parking space cleared out just for the inhabitants of the apartment complex and hence Devil was able to park his truck right in front of the door, so that was pretty cool, but he had trouble appreciating it right now. What was it from that zombie film, the quote that kinda fit this moment? Enjoy the little things or something. Well, Devil was certainly trying his best.

Dragging himself up the stairs (why did the flat have to be on the top floor again?), he pulled the little bottle of antibiotics from the pocket of his pants and looked at it closely. Tanner had said the motherfucker Quarles was unpredictable. Maybe he'd seen through Devil's act after all and had advised for his secretary to give him pills with Lord knew what in them to kill him. Everything was possible right now, Devil felt like it had been way too easy, and how could he know whether Quarles was actually falling for the whole thing? There was just no way to tell. This was the time for some of the good faith that Boyd always asked him for.

"Now's good a time as any" Devil murmured to himself, not even consciously aware he'd just said that out loud, and dry-swallowed three pills from the bottle. When he arrived at the top floor the world was swimming a little. This time Keegan answered the door so quickly he could have been standing directly behind it just waiting for someone to ring the bell.

"Devil! There you are again!" His smiling face turned serious. "You don't look like you feel good."

"I don't" Devil answered shortly and walked past him on wobbly legs. "Might have a fever, or somethin', I dunno. Jus' wanna go to bed 'n sleep, for, like, a week or somethin'."

"Okay then, buddy, uhm… You need anythin', dude, just holler, alright? I'll be right there."

Funny you don't have anywhere else to be, Devil thought. A lot of strange stuff was going through his head, snippets of thoughts he would have liked to think from beginning to end but just didn't have the means to at this moment, like, who paid the rent for this giant flat? Who kept it clean? Did Keegan only get money to house this flat, and lived on that? Why did the Dixie Mafia give such an important job to someone who was clearly smoking weed like it was oxygen…?

Devil stuffed two more pills from the bottle down his parched throat and washed them down with the rest of the water that was still on his nightstand. How many of these had he already taken? He'd lost count, but if the pills were poison, Devil considered, it didn't matter either way. Carefully he sat down on the bed and removed his shoes, then his pants, then his shirt and vest, before he slowly peeled the bandage off the wound. It stuck to his skin where the blood had dried, and he bit the insides of his lips bloody to keep from making a sound.

Whether the wound looked infected he couldn't say. He figured he just had to put on a clean dressing, and if the pills were actually antibiotics, it was gonna be fine. It just had to be. Devil was alone in a city hours away from home with no-one to help him but some pothead with Jesus-hair, in a flat with mildew in the corner and at least five other people who could be fucking contract killers for all he knew.

Devil rummaged through the bathroom to find something he could use as a bandage, something clean, and actually came across a first-aid-kit that he immediately raided for all it was worth: Bandages, medical tape, disinfectant. He looked at the disinfectant and knew it was gonna hurt, but also that it had to be done. Well, hell. He'd already gotten shot, it couldn't be worse than that, right?

It turned out to be not worse, but about equally as bad. This time he couldn't suppress a shout and immediately had Keegan at the door asking if he was okay, and Devil thought that was a dumb question if ever there was one, but he just said it was fine. Spraying disinfectant on an open wound was dumb, too, so maybe Devil shouldn't be casting stones just yet. When the burning subsided enough for him to breathe through the pain again, he sprayed some on the dressing as well before putting it over the wound and fixing it with medical tape. It looked pretty good from his perspective, too, like he'd actually gotten treatment somewhere.

Stumbling back to the bed, he laid down on top of the covers, since he was still so goddamn hot, and stared at the mildew in the corner next to the window without properly seeing it. If he survived this, if this was his life now, Devil thought, he had to learn how to deal with it… he had to learn his lines. Something about puppets popped up in his mind, from the strange dream he'd had this morning. Something about puppets and understudies and he was tired and the trees were all plastic, but how could that be?

Devil fell asleep before he could finish that snippet of a thought, and he would only wake up again when it was already dark outside and Keegan stood in his doorway with a plate of dinner asking him if he was doing any better now.

* * *

"So he swallowed the whole story?"

"Yeah, Boyd, everythin', he bought it."

"That's great news, Devil. Well done."

"So what now?"

"You do as he says. Rest, and contact him. Let him give you work, and try and meet people, make contacts, friends, you know how that works."

"Yeah, I do. Just…"

"Yeah, son?"

"I just hate it, takin' orders from that dickhead. He treats me like I'm stupid."

"You ain't stupid, I know it, you know it, that's gon' have to be enough for you. See it for what it is, Devil: You takin' orders from ME, and I say, do what he says. Call me once a week and talk to me."

"…alright, Boyd."

"Devil, what's that sound in the background?"

"Oh, that's the shower, I'm in the bathroom. I don't want anyone listenin' in, can't take the risk, right?"

"That's right. You think anyone would listen in, though?"

"Boyd, I ain't got no idea. I only met one of the, like, eight or somethin' people that are stayin' here right now. Most of 'em'll probably be gone by the week, but they'll just be replaced by other guys that I know jack shit bout. I just can't take the risk."

"That is very true, my friend. And how are you doin', anyway? You didn't say when I asked you earlier."

"I'm… I'mma be fine, Boyd. I slept through the whole day, that's why I'm only callin' you now. I, uh, took some meds that kinda knocked me out."

"I'm sorry I had to shoot you, Devil, but you know. You brought this on you yourself."

"I know, Boyd, I… I know. It was a good thing, too, I guess. Quarles felt real sorry for me, I musta been lookin' pretty pathetic this mornin', barely got any sleep, and I had… I just felt like shit."

"And how you feelin' now?"

"Better, I guess. Gonna take a shower, Keegan's made me dinner, and then I think I'mma be ready to fall right back asleep."

"Alright then, Devil. I don' wanna keep you from it. You just watch yourself now, son. It's all gonna be fine, you hear me?"

"Boyd… how long am I gonna be here?"

"As long as it's gon' take."

* * *

Devil pretty much spent the next forty-eight hours asleep, except for a bathroom break here and there where he changed the wound dressings, and Keegan bringing him lunch and dinner, and tea (that Devil didn't drink, because for one he didn't like tea, and for another because he suspected Keegan spiced his tea with illegal substances that Devil didn't want any part of right now).

On Monday night, after he'd had the talk with Quarles on Saturday morning, Devil decided it was time to give Robert Quarles the call he'd wanted. He felt better now. His side still pulled, naturally, but the fever, and Devil was sure now it had been a fever, had gone down. The pills most likely were antibiotics, after all. He had a hitch in his step, but he wanted to hide it the best he could, because it really was nobody's business if he was hurt. Keegan had stopped questioning him about it quite quickly, and Devil wondered if the other occupants were starting to wonder about the guy that had the good guest room with a private bath and that had Keegan bring him his food to the nightstand like he was some kind of invalid.

Devil still was nervous when he called, but Quarles was short with him on the phone, like he was busy with something, and Devil could hear a child laughing in the background. He tried not to dwell on that. Quarles just told him to be at the office at 7 am, sharp, and although Devil was not amused about the early hour, he figured it was time he got out of this goddamn stuffy flat and entered the real world, Frankfort, Kentucky. He had to learn his lines now. Time to step up.

So he dragged himself out of bed at six o'clock the next morning, took a fast shower and woke Keegan to have him make coffee (there was something to be said about having a pothead servant who did everything for you because you had a bullet wound in the side) while Devil fastened a new dressing over his wound and assessed his laundry situation, which said that he was in dire need of asking Keegan for directions to a Laundromat. Asking Keegan to do his dirty laundry was out of the question though; Devil would only push it so far. And there was the fact that most of the tees he'd packed were blood-stained, and he thought that was disgusting to clean if it was someone else's blood.

Downing the coffee and swallowing some Advil alongside a slice of toast that Keegan practically force-fed him, Devil was late and had to jog out the door before anyone else out of the current occupants had even woken up enough to understand he was the mysterious guestroom guy. Running was still out of the question.

Devil knew he would have been faster if he'd taken the stairs up to Quarles's office instead of the old elevator that moved from story to story at a snail's pace, but he also knew if he'd tried to take the stairs he would not have made it up at all. Hence he arrived on the right floor being an entire two minutes too late.

"You're late" Quarles greeted him accordingly. He waved his hand at the chair in front of his desk, an unspoken command to sit, not an invitation.

"Yep. Sorry." Devil sat, not the ungraceful slump of the first day, but he couldn't hide a wince.

"How are you doing today? How's the side?"

"Better, on both accounts."

"Well, I'm certainly glad to hear, because I have work for you today." Quarles smiled that strange smile of his, like he was Wednesday Addams and smiling was something painful and unfamiliar to him. Devil still saw it as the distorted mirror image of reality, and it was creeping him out to no end.

"That's… good?"

"Yes, indeed it is. But first we have to clarify your areas of expertise. Now. I have looked into your criminal records, and I was able to learn from that that you did two stints in prison, one when you were 23 years old, for physical assault, and one only two years ago, for dealing with marijuana. Is that correct?"

"Uh, yeah. How in the hell were you able to see into my records, though?"

"You let that be my concern. So I am guessing that means that you have experience in dealing drugs, as well as no inhibitions about hurting people. Would you attest to that?"

"Yeah, sure." Devil shrugged.

"Anything else you're good at, Mr. Devil?"

"Well, I'm a pretty good shot."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"How good?"

Devil frowned in thought. "Good as… the longest shot I ever took was… maybe a hundred yards."

"And it was a kill shot?"

"Most definitely was."

"Well." Quarles folded his hands and studied them. "That sounds fairly impressive. We'll see how we can put that skill of yours to use some time. Generally, though, I am going to need you as what you would call a 'leg breaker'."

"Mh."

"You know, going places, looking mean, intimidating, twisting an arm or two. You think you can do that?"

"So I'm just gonna be some run-of-the-mill gun thug."

"Devil, you lost your privilege to be anything else when you let Crowder shoot you and run you out of Harlan County." Quarles's eyes flashed dangerously. "So if I were you, and I thank the heavens I am not, I would shut up and listen."

Devil pressed his lips together, remembering what Tanner had said. The fucker's unpredictable. The only reason Devil wasn't dead was because Quarles had felt sorry for him. What Devil had to understand right now was that, when it came to Quarles, his lines consisted of silence, and his cues of when Quarles asked him a question. Devil cleared his throat and nodded.

"Alright." Quarles smiled again like the little dispute had never happened. "Having the background that you do, I would have been able to use you as a drug dealer, as well, but as it is there's no need for that currently, which means you'll be my run-of-the-mill gun thug, like you said, and I would like for you to start doing that right now."

"What do you mean, right now?" Devil sat up a little.

"There's someone waiting outside that you will be partnered with for today, and I would like for the two of you to run an errand for me where it will be essential you two look mean and intimidating. No worries, though, you'll be in a car most of the time, there won't be any running involved" he added, his gaze going to Devil's side for a second.

Quarles pressed a button on the intercom. "Suzan, would you send Russel in, please."

"You'll like him" he said, and now there was a hint of malice in his smile. Devil turned to the door when it opened and understood why.

Through the door came a very tall man, slim, but muscular, about Devil's age, dressed in jeans and a simple gray t-shirt, and also he was as black as Barry White. Russel's eyes skipped over Devil where he'd turned to him in his chair, over the Southern Justice tattoo on his arm, and his clothes, and settled on Quarles without any sign of even recognizing that Devil was actually in the room. Devil hated Quarles a tad bit more, if that was even possible.

"Russel, meet Devil. Devil, that's Russel. I'm sure you'll get along just fine." Smile, malice. Asshole. "What I would like for the two of you to do today is actually quite simple: I want the two of you to pick up a suitcase."

Russel's face struggled to remain impassive, but Devil's eyebrow rose almost to his hairline. Really, a black dude and a white dude were sent to pick up a suitcase? That sounded awfully familiar to him, for some reason.

"Then when you have obtained said suitcase, I want you to deliver it to an address in Louisville and the receiver of the suitcase will pay you with 10,000 $, cash. I want you to count the money before you end the transaction, because the man is a con and might try to screw you over. If he does, you shoot him" he looked at Devil. "If he does not, you take the money and come back here, and both of you will get a thousand each. Now how does that sound?"

"Uhm" Devil said. "Why do I have to shoot him if he tries to screw us over?"

"Because you have more experience in that department. Any more questions? No? Very good! The CAG flat where you'll be picking up the suitcase is on Washington Street, not far away. My secretary will give you the address in Louisville. Thank you, that's all."

That was their cue to leave, so Russel and Devil exited the office and received a slip of paper from Suzan the Secretary that had an address in Louisville on it. They made the trip down the stairs in silence. Devil would have preferred the elevator for obvious reasons, but he wanted to hide any weakness in front of this nigger, even if it damn near killed him. The silence dragged on and neither one of them felt the need to break it, and when they reached the outside and Russel automatically walked over to his car, Devil shrugged and followed him. At least the nigger wouldn't be sitting in his car, then.

Thank God Louisville ain't far away, Devil thought and got into the passenger's seat in Russel's Ford Taurus. If the guy was half as boring as his car, Devil didn't even want to break the silence.

Washington Street was only five car minutes away, and neither one of them felt the need to say anything during those few long minutes. Then Russel, who already seemed to know exactly which house it was, put the car in park and said, "Wait here, I'll be back in two minutes."

It was the first thing Devil had ever heard him say. He didn't sound particularly hostile. Maybe he just didn't see the point. Sitting in the driver's seat, Russel had a perfect view on the AB heart tattooed on Devil's arm, as well as the Odin Rune on his neck, and Devil felt uncomfortable knowing it. He didn't usually feel self-conscious about things, least of all his looks. He'd never had reason to. Now, though, he would be locked in this car with some nigger he had never even talked to and had to work together with him, and it made him uneasy. But if Russel could be not hostile about it, then Devil could, too.

Russel came back then, with a black suitcase in hand that looked just like the suitcase from Pulp Fiction. Coupled with the fact that it was early in the morning, it let another wave of surrealism crash over Devil's head. He sure as hell wouldn't stop to have breakfast in any diner, just to be sure his life didn't turn into some kind of screwed up movie homage.

The drive to Louisville would take about an hour. Russel didn't turn on the radio, either. Slowly but surely the silence began to weigh on Devil, and he couldn't stop his leg from twitching again. If Russel noticed, he didn't comment.

They had to halt at a traffic light, and Russel turned to look at Devil demonstratively. Devil looked at him, too, then, not about to be intimidated by a nigger. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, "What is it?"

"So, you're Devil, huh. Heard about you."

Devil frowned. "Heard about me? From who?"

Russel shrugged and looked back at the street. The light turned green.

"I got kin in Noble's Holler, you know. They told me you's a traitor."

"Oh." Devil did look away, then.

"That all you got to say bout that? 'Oh'?"

"Nobody likes folk who talk bout stuff they don't know shit about, so why don't you just shut up and drive."

"Course, I don't know shit. I'm just an ugly as fuck, stupid nigger, right?"

"I ain't never said you're stupid."

"No, in fact you ain't said nothin' to me. Why's that? You too good to talk to me? What with you bein' the superior race and shit?"

Strangely enough, while Russel said this, he still did not sound the least bit pissed off or hostile. He sounded… curious.

"I didn't say anythin' to you cause I ain't got nothin' to say. And if I say you don't know shit about what happened, it don't mean you're stupid, it just means you don't know shit about what happened, and I don't wanna talk about it. In fact, I don't wanna talk at all. Liked the silence better."

Devil had looked out of the window the entire time he'd been talking, and he didn't turn to see what Russel's reaction was now, either. Hearing Russel call him a traitor showed him quite plainly something he hadn't even stopped to think about yet: The world saw him as a traitor now. Harlan saw him as a traitor now. Obviously, Noble's Holler did, too. Not even Limehouse could know the truth. The only people that knew what exactly had happened that night were Boyd, Johnny and Devil himself. Devil was sure Boyd had told Ava and Arlo a condensed version. As far as everyone else knew, Tanner's try to turn Devil against Boyd had worked, and Devil had left over night to live in Frankfort.

Devil himself knew he wasn't a traitor. In Frankfort, though, and most of Kentucky, too, he was alone with that knowledge. And he couldn't tell anyone either, because word could spread to Quarles and he would be dead in the blink of an eye. He had to endure people knowing something about him that wasn't true, and he couldn't even tell them how it really was.

The load of that secret was huge, fucking gigantic, and only now did Devil see it for what it really was. He was alone in carrying that weight. He was just fucking alone.

* * *

I was so really goddamn fucking upset about the finale, I couldn't even talk after I'd watched it. I know it's kinda pathetic, but it took me an hour and cursing TellatrixForever's inbox full to calm down, and even then I was still so fucking sad about what happened with Ava. But fuck it if Walton Goggins doesn't deserve an Emmy for his performance. It just hit me right in the heart. And Timothy Olyphant was fantastic, too.

Now, as you might have noticed, I've cranked up my posting speed a little. I am currently putting the finishing touches on chapter 9, meaning I have quite the buffer so I think I can afford posting two chapters a week for now. Should that buffer get too small for my comfort, or should I not have the time to post twice a week, I'll reduce it to one post a week until I can step up again. Sound fair?

Anyone feel like they might wanna review, not my place to stop you.


	3. Chapter 3

And this is chapter 3. I've overcome the initial shock after the finale now and spent the weekend watching Misfits nonstop, and I'm ready to work again^^

About this chapter there's this to say: I apologize to whoever might live in 111 South Anderson Street, Tullahoma, Tennessee. I just needed an address in Tullahoma and completely randomly chose this one. Also, those of you who read my story "The Wolf Mother", you'll trip over a character whose name you might remember, and no, that's not a coincidence, nor a mistake or lacking imagination.

WARNING: Use of the n-word.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 3

* * *

The rest of the drive was passed in silence. It took them less than an hour to get to their destination thanks to blessedly empty streets.

"That's the one" Russel said and pointed at one of the neat white houses that framed the street.

"How can you tell? All them houses look the same. Where are the fuckin' numbers?"

"On the mailboxes. Number thirty-three. This has to be it."

They got out of the car. It was still early in the day, but not early enough for it to be this quiet, Devil thought. Not a single person was on the street, not a single sound to be heard but a bird here and there. The climate had warmed up again, and the heat was oppressive. In the glimmer of the air above the hot asphalt, the street looked dead, like a ghost version of itself.

Russel rang the bell, and Devil hung back a little and stayed on the sidewalk. Nothing happened. Russel rang a second time, and a third, then just hammered on the door, but the house stayed as dead and empty as the street it was on. Russel looked to Devil.

"Shit. He ain't here. The hell we gon' do now?"

Devil shrugged. "No idea. Did Quarles say what's gonna happen if we come back without the money?"

"Nah. He didn't need to, I can tell you that. It won't be pretty."

"Shit. If he sent me out here on a suicide mission and knew the guy wouldn't be here, I'mma kill that son of a bitch, the money be damned!"

Russel studied his car and chewed on his lip, obviously trying to think of a solution for this problem, but Devil didn't understand why he even bothered. If the guy wasn't here, he wasn't here, and then he couldn't take the suitcase and give them the 10,000 dollars they'd come here for, and that meant they had jack shit to work with right now. You couldn't just conjure up a guy with ten G's on him out of thin air just because you thought about it hard enough.

Devil was close to just telling him so when the door of the house next to number thirty-three opened and an old lady looked at them through thick glasses.

"Hello, young men" she said, "are you the ones who wanted to bring Mr. Chandler his package? You don't look like UPS, but Mr. Chandler said two men would come here with a package for him and that they would come by today, so…"

"Uh… yeah, that's us" Russel said, catching on quickly, "we ain't UPS, but we got a package to deliver to Mr. … Chandler. Ain't that right?"

He looked at Devil expectantly, and Devil nodded. "Yeah, exactly. Mr. Chandler, he, uh, needs this package we got, he's been waitin' on it for ages. But now it seems like he ain't home, ma'am."

"Yes, he said to give the two of you a message" the old lady limped out of her house and Russel met her halfway. She pressed an envelope into his hand. "He told me he had to go and didn't have your number, and to tell you he's very sorry."

"Thank you, ma'am" Russel said politely, and him and Devil watched as she limped back into her house. Knowing she was probably watching them from her window, they got in the car again and drove around for five minutes, until they found a parking spot in the shadow of a tree.

"Alright, what the fuck. Open the goddamn letter, I wanna see what kinda message he left us" Devil said, already anxious it was going to be a "Screw you, I took the money and absconded to Tahiti" thing.

Russel didn't need to be told twice. Ripping the envelope open, he took out a scrap of paper. In scribbly, shaky handwriting, it said:

'Sorry, Quarles's henchmen. I couldn't stay here, it got too hot. Currently I'm at 111 South Anderson Street, Tullahoma, Tennessee. You want the money, you gotta come get it.

A. H.'

"Tullahoma, Tennessee" Russel repeated disbelievingly. "Tullahoma. Tennessee. Tennessee."

"He called me a henchman, the asshole." Devil frowned.

"Really? That's your issue? Because I'm thinking that the dickhead is in another state right now, in… Tullahoma, wherever the hell that's supposed to be, and that if we want to get the money, and we really, really want that, then we're gonna have to go there and get it!"

"How in the hell are we even supposed to know whether he's actually there in Tokaloona-"

"Tullahoma."

"-whatever, and not in Mexico, laughin' his ass off about the two idiots that wanted to pick up Quarles's money? Quarles said, guy's a con. He could be fuckin' with us right now, and as good a shot as I am, I can't shoot somebody I can't see."

"I know, man. Look. We got two options now. We can either call Quarles now and tell him the guy we're supposed to be lookin' for ain't here and let him give us shit about it, or we can drive to … Tullahoma now and check if the guy's there or not, and THEN we call Quarles and let him give us shit about it. And if the guy's actually THERE and we find him, Quarles ain't gon' give us shit about it at all."

Devil drummed his fingers on the window frame before sighing. "Okay. Fine. Let's drive to Tuskaloosa."

"Tullahoma."

"Whatever. Just drive."

* * *

The GPS Russel had installed in his car told them that Tullahoma was in the southern half of Tennessee and that it would take them at least four and a half hours to get there, and Devil was quietly fuming. If this asshole was not there and they did all of this shit for nothing, somebody was gonna die.

It made for another uncomfortable silence, during which Devil could feel Russel's eyes on his tattoos.

"You were favorin' your side" Russel said, apropos nothing.

"Huh?"

"When we walked back to the car, I was walkin' behind you and you were limpin' a little, looked like you were favorin' your left side. What happened?"

Devil rubbed his eyes. "You remember when I said I liked the silence? I meant that."

"I ain't gonna sit in a car with you for five hours and keep silent the whole time, you can forget that right now. You don't wanna talk about your traitor-thing, fine, I get it. But we can talk about somethin' else. So, what happened to your side?"

"Well." Devil looked at him then, a wry expression on his face. "Since what happened with my side has directly to do with my 'traitor-thing', I'd rather not talk about it."

"What's it got to do with that?"

Devil sighed. This nigger seemed to be hell-bent on a conversation, and after almost three days of not talking to anybody but Keegan, he didn't even mind so much. If Russel wanted to know, for God's sake, Devil was gonna tell him, as much as he could.

"I got shot."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"In the side?"

"Well, of course it was my fuckin' side, or did you see me favor anythin' else?"

"No, man. Shit." Russel was trying to sneak more looks at him than was advisable while driving. "Who did it?"

The corners of Devil's mouth turned downwards. "Boyd did."

"Boyd Crowder?"

"Yeah."

"Because you betrayed him?"

"I think I told you I didn't wanna talk about that."

"Right. So, uhm. Did it hurt?"

"Is that a serious question?"

"Well, how bad was it? I ain't never been shot."

"Be glad. It hurt like a motherfucker. Still hurts, in fact."

"But not as bad, right?"

"Nah, not as bad."

"Was that the first time you ever got shot?"

"No."

"When was the first time?"

Devil closed his eyes then. "That's another thing I don't wanna talk about."

"Jeez, man. If you wanna keep talkin' to me, you gotta write me a list of topics I CAN talk to you about."

"For the record, I didn't wanna talk at all. You started it. It's on you how the conversation goes."

"Alright…" Russel fell silent again for a while, probably to think up something else he could ask Devil that would not serve to just satiate his curiosity about the things that had led Devil to Frankfort. Devil was thankful for the quiet once again. The caffeine he'd consumed this morning was already losing its effect on him, and he let the steady hum of the motor lull him into a light doze. Russel noticed and, thankfully, didn't ask another question.

* * *

"Ey, yo, man, wake up."

Devil felt someone shake his shoulder and let out a leftover snore that turned into a cough, which jarred his side uncomfortably.

"Wha'?"

"We're here" Russel said and Devil opened his eyes and had to blink a few times to understand where he was and with who and why.

"Where?"

"111 South Anderson Street, Tullahoma, Tennessee."

"Oh. Right."

Devil sat up and groaned at the pain in both his neck and his side. "Shit. Jesus. Ow."

"You alright, man?" Russel asked and Devil turned to him to see that this nigger was actually looking at him with something akin to concern in his eyes. Was Devil still asleep? Was he stuck in Twilight Zone again? This was getting to be a regular thing for him nowadays, apparently. He remembered just in time that Russel had asked him a question.

"Uh, yeah. Side hurts a little. Neck, too. I'm good."

Devil realized that Russel had actually not said anything else to him, had heeded Devil's wish for silence, and had just let him sleep, and he was thankful, actually grateful for that. He'd never been grateful to a nigger before. This day was getting stranger and stranger.

"Okay then, we should get out and get this shit done and over with."

"I'mma kill him if he ain't here" Devil mumbled, still not entirely awake and not noticing the complete nonsense he'd just uttered. Russel was considerate enough not to comment on it.

When Devil finally came around to getting out of the car, he found himself to be standing in a clean and empty street, quite similar to the neighborhood in Louisville where the guy they were supposed to meet had been hiding out first, except that the houses where a little bigger and further apart, and trees were decorating the sidewalks and front yards.

Russel was already walking ahead, having determined the right house, and Devil followed after him, in no hurry to catch up. The nap in the car had not really done him that much good. He had a mean kink in his neck now, and his side was hurting more for some reason, or maybe Devil was just more aware of it now. His back didn't take too kindly to it, either. Shit, Devil thought. I'm getting old.

He caught up to Russel just as he was ringing the door bell.

"Do we even know the guy's name?" Devil asked quietly.

"Nah. The grandma called him Mr. Chandler, the letter said 'A.H.', and Quarles just referred to him as 'the receiver of the suitcase'. I guess you can pick one."

"Do we know what he looks like?"

"No idea. But if it ain't Samuel L. Jackson openin' the door, we'll just have to assume it's him."

"Alright." Devil yawned into the crook of his elbow, and Russel arched a brow at him.

"You supposed to shoot him if he tries anythin', remember?"

"Course I do, why, what is it?"

"Well, just sayin', man, you look so tired I ain't even sure you'd be able to hit the toilet if you took a piss."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll hit him alright. I don't miss, not on a short distance."

"You even packin'?"

"What d'you think I'd plan on shootin' him with if I wasn't? A breeze?" Devil rolled his eyes. Stupid nigger.

He had his Beretta 92FS in the back of his belt, like he always did when he left the house. He even had a goddamn license for it. It was something Boyd had asked him to get. The gun was also THE gun, the one he'd pointed at Boyd, the one Johnny had taken away from him, and Boyd had given it back to him before Devil left. It was the one he'd pointed at the fat bastard that had stolen Johnny's bar.

Devil liked that gun. It made him feel safe. And he had no qualms about using it. He just hoped he didn't have to today.

"He's sure takin' his sweet time" Devil said when the door didn't open after several minutes.

"Maybe he's takin' a shit."

"Maybe he ain't here."

"Maybe he's in a wheelchair and just takes time to get anywhere."

"Nah, come on. I know someone who's in a wheelchair, and Johnny's good at gettin' places, long as it ain't upstairs."

"Look, my point is, we should just wait a couple more minutes, he might show up after all. Maybe he's just testin' us, to see whether we're serious about the money."

"And we are?"

"Hell yeah we are! I don't wanna know what that pasty asshole's got in store for people who disappoint him."

Devil shrugged. "If you make him feel sorry for you, he's not gonna give you anythin' but some antibiotics and a place to sleep."

"Really?" Russel frowned. "That sounds more like Disney than him."

Devil started to answer, but right at that moment the door swung open. The man inside the house was shorter than Devil, and had to be in his forties at least, because he was almost bald. Maybe though, he just had bad luck with genetics.

"Hello, fellas! I see you came after all." He was wearing a bathrobe made out of red satin and had a cigar between his teeth like he was Hugh Hefner, and Devil immediately changed his mind about having to use his Beretta today. Let the fucker try shittin' them. Devil wouldn't mind.

"Glad Mrs. Weinstein gave you the message. She can be forgetful. Well, it's the age, you know?"

"Yeah, great." Russel held out his hand. "I'm Russel, this is Devil-"

"Devil? That's cute!" The Hefner wannabe grinned around his cigar. "How'd you get that name?"

"You wanna know, or you wanna find out?" Devil growled.

"Anyway" Russel intercepted, "I was sayin', we come in the name of Robert Quarles, and I'm guessin' you know who that is."

"I do."

"And your name is?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" He extended his hand towards Russel. "Arthur. Herk."

He eyed Devil before saying, "I'm not gonna shake your hand."

Devil shrugged. "I'll survive."

"If we could just go inside now, you know, talk bout business and shit" Russel said, waving his hand towards the house. "We don't really need to do that on the street."

"Oh, of course, good idea, Russel! Come inside. Come on."

They did step into the house then, and it looked thoroughly lived in, and like the interior designer had gotten their mind stuck in the seventies. It smelled old, as well, like old dirt and old furniture, but also like old people. It didn't exactly help to lighten Devil's mood.

"So, Quarles sent you to get the money, huh?" Arthur Herk said in a conversational tone. "He must have some sense of humor. A black guy, and a white guy named Devil? Is this gonna turn into a buddy-cop-movie?"

"You take into account that he's got an Aryan Brotherhood tattoo on his arm, I'd say it obviously ain't."

"Oh." Herk's gaze was immediately drawn to Devil's arms to verify Russel's statement, and he saw the AB heart alright; Devil crossed his arms just to make sure.

"I think you can guess why I ain't in the best of moods right now" Devil said slowly, "so if you don't give us the goddamned money we came here for, I'mma shoot both of you just for the hell of it."

"Oh, okay, Hot Shot, calm down" Herk said, laughing and raising his hands. "You guys sure you don't want a drink first? You know, chat a bit?"

"I ain't that talkative today" Devil said.

"I can't drink, I gotta drive" Russel added. "Sorry. So, how bout you just give us the money, cause I got the suitcase right here. We all got shit to do, so let's not draw this out any more than we already have."

"Already have? You just got here!"

"We did have to drive here, you know" Russel said and watched as Herk sat in a dusty old arm chair and smoked his cigar like he was Hannibal Smith and his plan had just come together. Devil started getting twitchy. Right now he wanted nothing more than to draw his gun and make the fucker shit his pants. But it seemed like Russel was a good talker (not as good as Boyd, of course, but then again, who was?), so it sounded like a good idea to let him do the talking for now.

"Oh yeah. Again, sorry. It just got too hot for me there."

"Okay then. Where do you have the money at, Mr. Herk?"

"Please, call me Arthur."

"Mr. Herk, I'm gonna call you whatever the hell I want, and if you don't show us the money soon, we might lose our patience. See, Mr. Herk" and Russel sat himself comfortably across from Herk on the dusty old couch. Devil remained standing. He didn't think he would be able to stand the smell. "I woulda been able to do this shit on my own, but Mr. Quarles sent this racist asshole with me" and he pointed at Devil over his shoulder, "as kind of an insurance, you know, because if you don't do what I say, when I say it, Devil's gon' shoot you."

Devil knew THAT cue, at least, and he pulled his Beretta out of his belt and pointed it at Herk, who looked comically surprised.

"Okay, boys" he said carefully, raising his hands again. "Why don't we look at this from another-"

"Jesus Christ, do you ever shut up?" Devil ground out. "It's like you're talkin' for hours and hours just to have nothin' to say! I said I'mma shoot you, and don't for a second think I won't."

"Mr. Herk" Russel said with a tone that was almost friendly, "you got the money we want, and we got the suitcase you want. It's a simple thing, really."

"This is how you're playing it now, huh?" Herk's eyes scurried from the barrel of Devil's gun to Russel's face to the suitcase at his feet and back. "Good cop, bad cop?"

"Is it workin'?" Russel asked, tilting his head expectantly.

Herk sighed. "I'm gonna get up now" he said, addressing Devil, or, more precisely, Devil's gun. "Walk to the closet, get the money. Don't shoot."

"We'll see" Devil said.

Everything else worked itself out quite quickly. Herk gave Russel a sports bag, and Russel counted the money to the last dollar. It added up. Then he passed Herk the suitcase, under the watchful eyes of Devil and his Beretta.

They got out of the house and into the car and onto the road back to Frankfort in a matter of minutes. Only then was Devil able to relax for a fraction again.

"Jesus, man, can you believe that guy? Gives the big player, with cigar and everythin', and then I point my gun at him and suddenly he's about two feet tall. The safety was still on!"

"Didn't seem to me like the man knows enough about guns to be able to tell" Russel sighed. He sounded relieved that this ordeal was done and over with. "I wonder what the hell Quarles had to do with him."

"I wonder what was in the suitcase" Devil added.

"True. It was light. Papers, maybe."

"Musta been fuckin' important papers, then, to make such a big fuss about 'em."

"Mh."

They were quiet again for some time. It was afternoon already, and Devil's stomach growled, accompanied by a slight stabbing in his gut. Man, he was hungry.

It was Russel who broke the silence once again.

"Would you really have shot me just for the hell of it?" he asked, not averting his gaze from the road.

Devil frowned. "Nah, man, I just said that to scare the guy. I don't shoot unless I got a good reason."

"Fair enough."

Usually the conversation would stop now, but for some strange reason Devil couldn't let it lie. "You really think I'm an asshole, huh."

"You a racist asshole, I know that much."

"Yeah, well. You're alright, I guess. For a nigger."

Russel snorted. "For what it's worth, man, you ain't the biggest asshole I know, and all things considered, we worked together okay. Don't mean I wanna do this again anytime soon, though."

"Amen to that" Devil said, slightly pulling up a corner of his mouth in a wry half smile.

"And I know you don't wanna talk about it and shit, and I get it. I just wanna say, you don't seem like a traitor, man. You seem more like the confrontational type. And every time you call me a nigger I just wanna pull over and beat the shit outta you, but since I'm guessin' that might be a good reason for you shoot, I ain't gon' do it."

"Huh" Devil murmured. "Alright."

"So why don't we just make an agreement, say, you don't call me a nigger, and I don't beat you, and you don't shoot me. How's that sound?"

"Uhm… reasonable?"

"You're right, it's pretty reasonable. So, cool, man. We got a deal?"

"Sure." Devil sighed, already getting tired again. "Why the hell not. We got a deal. So, if I can't call you a nigger anymore… what was your name again?"

"Funny. Real funny."

"'kay then, Real Funny. Look at the road from time to time while you're drivin', huh?"

Devil didn't hear what else Russel had to say on the matter. He closed his eyes and nodded off to the feeling that maybe he wasn't as alone as he'd initially thought; after all, he WAS good at making friends.

* * *

I'm currently working on chapter 10. So far the two-chaps-a-week system works for me. And since last night I'm also officially posting on AO3. Yaaaaaay! And I found an interview with Kevin Rankin (aka Devil) where he talked about the scene with Ava and the frying pan and how the pan was rubber, but when Joelle Carter made full contact with his face in the first take, it still hurt like shit, and he's just a really sympathetic, authentic guy, it seems. I know that Devil is most definitely not a fandom-favorite, and I'm all the more happy about the feedback I've gotten so far. You're awesome, the lot of you!


	4. Chapter 4

Now, whereas the last chapter was rather easy-going, and the first half of this chapter's like that, too, the second half of it is a complete turn-around. It gets darker and contains some heavy imagery. Some explanations to that at the end.

AND an OC is mentioned twice that does not belong to me, but actually belongs to TellatrixForever! Nathan Lennox was his idea, and rightfully only belongs to him. I'm just using this OC for the purposes of this chapter.

WARNING: Use of the n-word, hints at child prostitution and PTSD.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 4

* * *

The Arthur Herk Job, as Devil referred to it later, was the most exciting and time-consuming job Quarles had for Devil during the next two weeks. He checked in with Quarles at his office about two or three times a week, got his orders, and got money if he'd done a successful job beforehand. Suzan, the black-haired secretary, was giving him the eye sometimes, but Devil wasn't interested. Her voice was squeaky like a ten-year-old's and even if it weren't, Devil's side was still bugging him and he estimated it would be at least another two weeks until he was able to bang someone again.

He locked himself in the bathroom and called Boyd on a regular basis. Boyd told him about his old Army buddy who'd come looking for a job, and what had come out of that. Devil asked Boyd whether he could come home now. Boyd said no.

People came and went in the CAG flat. Devil still occupied the good guest room, and only few people ever questioned it, even fewer people ever questioned it directly to Devil's face. Most of them just asked Keegan who the guy was that got to sleep in the only available bed while everyone else had to make do with futons, sleeping bags and the floor. And Keegan, who occupied the big couch because he was the flat owner, after all, would explain to them that Devil had just gotten shot and needed the rest and was also working directly for Robert Quarles and that this came with certain privileges.

Devil had heard one of these discussions once, and he winced at the last part. It still pissed him off that people thought he was Quarles's henchman. That one time, he'd just gotten out of the shower and was naked except for black cargo pants that still smelled comfortably like laundry detergent (turned out Keegan didn't mind washing Devil's clothes after all, blood or no blood), and it had pissed him off so much that he opened the door and saw Keegan and some asshole he'd never seen before stand in the hallway not five feet away from him.

The conversation came to a screeching halt. Keegan looked apologetic, but Devil only stared at the other guy. Tall, with a pretty face and leather jacket. He stared right back at Devil, anger apparent in his expression.

"You got somethin' to say to me?" Devil said in a low voice. "You say it to my face."

"Fine" Leather Jacket said gruffly. "I just wanted to know why the hell you get to sleep in the bed while all the other assholes gotta sleep on the floor like this. It ain't fair."

"I don't give a shit bout 'fair', man. You gotten shot recently?"

"No" Leather Jacket answered and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but Devil saw him sneak a look at the wound in his side. It was uncovered and in plain sight for the very first time, but Devil thought it looked better now. The scars would probably be pretty big and star-shaped since he hadn't bothered to get any treatment. It was starting to scab over on both sides, though, and to someone who hadn't seen it the first day, when Devil'd gotten a fever from it, it had to look quite nasty.

"Then go and get yourself shot and you can have the bed, man. Until then, though, you shut your fuckin' mouth."

Leather Jacket took a step in his direction, squaring his shoulders and putting on a threatening demeanor, and it worked because of his size. He spontaneously reminded Devil of Boyd's Marshal friend with the hat who could do that perfectly – square his shoulders and stare at you with that kind of threat in his eyes, and suddenly you felt like maybe taking a step or two back and shutting the hell up.

This wasn't the Marshal, though, this was just some kid with a leather jacket who Devil was not about to back down from, even if the kid was probably able to beat him up, especially right now, in Devil's injured situation.

"Listen, man" Leather Jacket growled, and Devil almost laughed because he sounded like such an idiot, "I came all the way down here from Kansas, I spent nine hours at a stretch on the road, and now I get here and this asshole here" he pointed at Keegan, "tells me that all the futons are taken and I need to sleep on the floor? On the FLOOR?"

"Shoulda come earlier, and you woulda gotten a futon" Devil shrugged. "Ain't my fault Kansas is so far away. Ain't his, either. Now, I don't give two shits about you and where you came from and if you're gonna sleep well tonight, maybe dream of your momma or what not. You don't wanna sleep on the floor, fine. Get a fuckin' motel. This ain't a congress, it's the Dixie Mafia. I already been here some time. I got dibs on the bed as long as I fuckin' feel like it."

"You son of a-"

"If you're really so goddamned keen on sleepin' in that bed" Devil interrupted him, "go ahead and talk to Quarles about it. I'm sure the two of you can figure somethin' out."

That shut Leather Jacket up alright, and Devil knew that, as keen as Leather Jacket was on sleeping in a proper bed, nobody in their right mind would be keen on talking to Quarles. Devil was also quite aware that if he actually molested Quarles with any of these ridiculous issues like they were all in kindergarten and Quarles was their teacher, Quarles would most likely have his head. But Leather Jacket was already stomping back into one of the sleeping rooms, silently fuming. That was the last Devil ever saw or heard of Leather Jacket. He'd never bothered to even learn his name, and he was gone the next morning, before Devil even woke up.

There were those who only stayed one night, like Leather Jacket. Then there were those who stayed two nights, sometimes more, but no-one ever stayed longer than a week. Devil was unique in that way. Three weeks in, he started feeling better again and not like falling asleep after walking some stairs, so he was up and about even when he wasn't working for Quarles, and he showed himself in the flat during the day, greeting new arrivals with a nod and a point to the sleeping rooms, saying things like, "I hope you brought a sleepin' bag, cause all the futons are taken. Got a full house today" and stuff. He was starting to feel more at home.

Keegan didn't bring him dinner to his room anymore because Devil took up the habit of eating with Keegan in the living room, on the gigantic sofa in front of the TV. Turned out they shared similar tastes in movies and chicks, and were both voting for Team Terrorist and Maggie Q during "Live Free or Die Hard", and booed out Angelina Jolie and her strange facial expressions and bony shoulders during "Mr. & Mrs. Smith".

Sometimes they were joined by other occupants of the flat, but mostly they were left to themselves, and Devil was fine with that. As much of a people person as he was, being surrounded by strangers all the time for weeks on end, it stressed him more than he would have liked to admit. Hell, he thought to himself during a quiet moment shortly before falling asleep. Anyone would be stressed out by that.

Then one day some guy came in early in the morning, like Devil had. It was 5 am and Devil was already up because Quarles wanted him in the office at 6:30 that day. Keegan had woken up with Devil, as if he had a sixth sense for Devil's alarm clock, and was making coffee when Devil got out of his room after taking a shower and heard the door bell.

"Can you get it?" Keegan half-called from the kitchen, not wanting to wake up those who were still asleep. "I kinda got my hands full, dude."

"Sure" Devil said, and rubbed the towel over his head again.

"Quick, dude, before he rings again!"

"Yeah, man, chill."

When Devil answered the door he came face to face with a guy that kinda looked like the brunette kid from the Twilight movies, with black hair and dark skin, possibly Native American decent. His hair had a military cut, though, and he stood there straight as a pole even though he had to be tired as all hell.

"I'm Caleb Danvers, and if you're Keegan, you don't look as advertised."

Devil huffed a laugh at that. "That's cool, cause I ain't Keegan. I'm Devil. Come on in."

They shook hands and Caleb took a look around. "Where is Keegan, then? I thought he was supposed to know when I came in."

"Oh, he's in the kitchen, makin' some coffee. You want some? Look like you could use it."

"No, I'm fine. Thanks for the offer. Where can I drop my shit?"

"Uhm, well…" Devil looked at the two adjoining rooms that were stuffed with sleeping people.

"You can store it in the guest room for now, I guess. You can even catch some sleep if you want to. I'mma head out in about an hour anyway, so I ain't gonna need it."

"What's the difference between the 'guest room' and those rooms?"

"Well, these are the sleepin' rooms, with futons and sleepin' bags. The guest room is entirely exclusive. It's got a separate bathroom and a BED." Devil emphasized the last word.

"And beds are something special round here?"

"Oh yeah."

"And you get to sleep in the bed, I get that right?"

"Yep. I got dibs on it. Courtesy for gettin' shot."

Caleb barely raised a brow. "I reckoned that's what this is." He pointed at the wound in Devil's side. He hadn't gotten around to fastening a bandage on it and putting on a shirt, so it was in plain sight again.

"I've seen quite a lot of those. You treated this yourself, I see."

"Well" Devil shrugged. "I seen my fare share, too, so I guessed I's gon' be fine."

"I'm so sorry" Keegan said, coming from the kitchen and wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "I just wanted to pour some coffee, but then the whole machine tilted sideways and I had to catch it, and then I wanted to put it back on the counter and make it stand upright, but it just wouldn't, and then I, I wanted to make new coffee since the one I'd made had spilled all over the floor, but it didn't work because it wasn't plugged in anymore…"

Keegan blinked at them. "Man, it woulda worked better if you hadn't spent the whole night watchin' 'Misfits' and smokin' dope" Devil said, and Keegan shrugged.

"Ah, no, dude. Now it worked just fine, I got some coffee made. You wanna?"

"Yeah, sure" Devil said and yawned, stretching carefully.

"You offered Caleb some? You are Caleb, right? Tanner called me, said you'd show up at some point today."

"Yeah, I'm Caleb Danvers, and no, I don't need any coffee. I would like to take you up on the offer of the bed, though."

"Sure, man, I'mma show you. Just let me get bandaged up and dressed and the place is all yours."

Devil did as he said, showed him bathroom and bed and mildew, then proceeded to get ready for the day. He'd gotten fairly good at fastening bandages by now, what with all the practice he'd had over the last weeks, and was done in no time. Rummaging through his bag, he decided it was laundry time again.

Caleb had taken off his shoes and jacket and was lying on the bed now, watching as Devil pulled on a shirt that passed the sniff test, then donning his beloved vest. When he checked the clip of his Beretta and whether the safety was still on, Caleb spoke up.

"How long you been here, man?"

"Almost a month now" Devil answered. It was true; another five days and his first monthly anniversary of arriving in Frankfort would roll around. The time had flown by, and Devil was homesick.

"And you still sleep in the guest room?"

"If all goes well, I ain't gonna stay here much longer" Devil said. What he meant was, "If Boyd decides to let me come back", but he could hardly phrase it that way.

"Yeah, but, I thought this was just a temporary residence thing. Coming and going, right? It's what Tanner told me."

Devil shrugged. "Yeah, well. It was always temporary, but Quarles never exactly talked to me about whether I should get my own place or not if it turned out to be a longer stay. I ain't never thought about it. I'm startin' to feel at home, now, too."

He stuffed his cell phone into the pocket of his pants and gave Caleb a nod. "Alright, man. I'm gettin' outta your hair now. Get some sleep. How long you gon' stay here?"

Caleb shrugged. "A couple days, maybe more."

"Alright. I'll see you tonight, maybe."

When Devil exited the guest room, he almost ran into Keegan who stood in the hallway like he'd pressed his ear against the door.

"You offered him the guest room?" he asked excitedly. Devil frowned.

"Yeah, sure. Why not? The sleepin' rooms are cramped to the ceilin' and he can't get no rest on the couch, so – and I'mma be gone all day, too, so what's the big fuzz?"

"Nothin', just" Keegan looked thoughtful. "You ain't never offered anyone the guest room. It was, kinda, your room now, you know?"

"So what." Devil passed him and got himself some much needed caffeine in the kitchen, alongside a slice of toast. He never had much of an appetite in the morning, especially if it was as brutally early as it was now, but Keegan was going to force him to eat something anyway, so Devil thought he could beat him to it and behave like an adult for once.

"I'm just surprised, dude, that's all. Looked like the two of you get along well."

"He does remind me of my cousin a bit. Nathan. He's with the Marines. I bet you that guy's Military, too. Got that look about him, and then the haircut."

"Mh. Pass me the toast."

They ate breakfast in the living room while watching some stupid cartoons on TV on low volume while the sun was slowly rising up outside the window, casting shadows in the dimly lit room, and just for a moment there, Devil really felt right at home.

* * *

When Devil finally got back to the flat, the sun was already sinking. Most of the people that had been there this morning had vacated, so the sleeping rooms were empty safe for two guys who'd gotten here shortly after Devil left and decided to turn in early. They'd taken two out of the four available futons and had the rare opportunity, due to the current vacancy, to have one room all to themselves.

The Military guy that had arrived this morning, Caleb, was sitting on the couch and blankly stared at the TV, like he was not really seeing it at all. Keegan was stretched out on the short end of the sofa, the one that ran along the wall under the window, and snored quietly. The entire flat was completely quiet except for the steady hum of the muted TV that flashed its pictures through the room like some kind of small indoor light show. Caleb looked up when Devil entered.

"Hey" he said.

"Hey there" Devil answered in kind.

"All them people left round noon" Caleb said, casting a look at the sleeping rooms.

"I figured. Maybe they're here for the same thing, I didn't stop to ask 'em. When'd he fall asleep?"

Caleb turned to look at Keegan. "Bout half an hour ago. Said he wanted to be awake when you get home so he can make you dinner. Sounds like he's your housewife or summin'."

"Well, he does do my laundry for me sometimes" Devil shrugged. "I don't ask him, he just does it. Thinks I'm a hero. Anyway, don't wake him, I ain't hungry."

And Devil wasn't. Not after the day he'd had.

Quarles had told him that day of the Arthur Herk Job that Devil was going to be a 'leg breaker', and Devil had understood it as 'gun thug'. Turned out Quarles understood the term as more literal than Devil could have liked. Quarles had him drive to a place in the middle of nowhere and talk to someone that owed Quarles money, and that, should they not be able to deliver the money, Devil should beat them up. Do not shoot them, Quarles had specifically told him. Just beat them. Slap them around a little, until they cave in. Because that was what a leg breaker did. And if he had to, Devil was supposed to break their legs, too.

Devil had no qualms about hurting people, never did. He figured that if his daddy had been able to beat him up as much as he had, hurting someone could not be that offensive, especially if it got you what you wanted. So Devil lived by that philosophy. And he was not afraid when he took on today's job. He was pissed, of course, to be doing such a low-grade job for the pasty asshole like he was some kind of errand boy. But he just needed to remind himself that it was actually Boyd's order he was following here, and all was well.

And then Devil arrived at the place he was supposed to break somebody's legs at, and all he found was a teenaged nigger boy in a dirty flat that was about as big as a medium sized walk-in closet. The place was run-down and shabby, and the nigger, who was just a boy, really, just a kid, was scared, just afraid, and he was crying, saying he'd get the money to Quarles, he'd manage, somehow, he would.

Devil felt pity, surprisingly sharp and aching, in his chest, considering this was just some lousy nigger who was obviously also an addict, judging from the amount of empty pill bottles piled up next to the stained, smelling sofa. He also knew it was all lies, because the boy had nothing he could sell, no way to get that money, but to maybe sell himself, and Devil wasn't even sure there would be takers for that here in the south. Even so, the amount of fucking he would have had to do to get the amount of money he owed to Quarles, it was just impossible. And beating him up, breaking his legs, Devil understood perfectly that it would not change that. People who had nothing, nothing of worth but their own lives, did not suddenly start shitting money just because you broke their legs and punched them in their pitiable, hollowed out faces. Beating the nigger would not make him shit money, and it wouldn't undo his addiction, either. Running was out of the question as well, Devil thought, because if the boy was still here, he would not run, because he could not. And even if he could, where to?

Devil, who himself had not had the happiest of childhoods, had still been living with his daddy when he'd been at the age that boy had to be. He hadn't loved his daddy, had hated him for the uncalled for beatings, had turned from him the first chance he got – but at that age, he'd still had some place he could call home. It was a home that would never win a prize for what it was, but it was a home still. And this boy, if he'd ever had one, had not had it in a very long time.

The nigger would not be able to get the money. The nigger, the boy, he was dead.

Devil left again without touching the boy. He knew if Quarles heard about it he would get in trouble for it, but the whole question of "what for?" had taken everything out of him. His side hurt worse than it had in days, and his stomach was aching, too. It was like his whole body was trying to stop him from doing what Quarles had told him to.

So when Devil heard that Keegan wanted to cook him dinner, his aching stomach lurched. He still had the smell of the nigger boy's flat in his nose, a combination of shit, piss, vomit and jizz, and it just wouldn't pass. The images of the boy's sick face, the lacerations around his mouth and nose and on his cheeks and forehead that came from overly drug use, and the sound of his sobs would not leave Devil's head. He was tired when he sat down on the couch next to Caleb, so, so tired. So tired and homesick and goddamned depressed.

"You alright?" Caleb asked.

"Yep. Jus' tired. Long day." Devil kept his eyes closed.

"You sleep okay in the bed?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Thanks for, you know, offering it. Keegan told me it was kinda your room."

"Ain't my room. It's the guest room. You a guest, you sleep in the guest room. Logical, right?"

"Mh."

"You Military?"

"How could you tell?" Devil heard the surprise in Caleb's voice and smirked a little.

"Just a guess. You got that posture about you, kinda like my cousin. He's always standin' straight, an' lookin' so serious, just like you do."

"And he's in the Army?"

"Marines. Ain't heard from him in like twenty years, but back then, he was in full soldier mode almost all the damn time."

"What's his name?"

"Nathan. Nathan Lennox."

"Nathan." Caleb repeated it lowly for himself. Devil wanted to ask him why he'd wanted to know, but Caleb spoke up first.

"Did he see combat?"

"Uh, yeah, I think he did."

"Did he ever say he regretted it?"

At that Devil opened his eyes and gazed at Caleb. The man was staring at the TV again, not seeing the flashy pictures, but staring at something beyond it that was probably just in his own mind.

"I asked Nathan once" Devil answered carefully, "bout how it was, and he said he couldn't express it. He came back a little… harder, you know. Little sharper round the edges. But he never once gave anyone the impression he regretted doin' it."

Caleb nodded slowly.

"You wanna tell me why you asked me that?"

"Th-" Caleb started, and broke off again, blinking. He tore his eyes away from the TV in favor of looking at his hands, folded in his lap.

"They tell you how to create an It, instead of a person, and how to kill It. But, they never taught me how to switch that off again. I c- I, I can't switch it off, you know? I see people, and I just… I just can't switch it off. If I could travel back in time and withdraw my application, I… God. God."

Caleb stopped talking then and buried his face in his hands. Devil said nothing.

He remembered a time when he himself had been playing with the idea of joining the Army. Like every young man at the age of eighteen he'd had to make that decision – join the Army, yes or no? There was only so much you could do in Harlan without having finished high school that was completely legal; you joined the Army, or you worked the mines.

Devil had decided against the Army back then, and he'd later spent much of his time regretting that decision. Boyd, though, after they'd met and gotten acquainted, had told him to be glad he'd made that decision back then. Listening to Caleb's heavy breathing now, he thought maybe Boyd had a point there.

Thinking of the good as dead nigger boy, though, Devil had to wonder how many decisions you had to make to get someplace you were maybe supposed to be; and how could you know whether it was a good decision you made or not? After getting over the supposedly wrong choice he'd made back then about working the mines instead, Devil had not spent much of his life second-guessing himself. He pictured the nigger boy, and he thought that even if he should have done that, if you reached a certain point in your life, it was too late to start.

* * *

So, turns out I'm a fucking psychic. See, I sent TellatrixForever a sneak peak of this chapter, because of the mentioning of Nathan Lennox and all, and he told me that Rambo said about the same thing, about not being able to switch it off. But I have never seen Rambo before (because, come on. Rambo?), and that must mean I'm a goddamn genius. I mean, I knew before that I am a genius, but now I have PROVE! :D

Seriously, though. PTSD is a serious business, and freshouttaideas who knows a lot about this stuff has told me a lot of things that I could put to use in this chapter. I am in no means making fun of it, and I hope I was able to convey that. One would have thought it was hard to write, but actually it came to me quite easily, despite the dark imagery. If anyone thinks I should increase the rating to M, please let me know.

The OC of Caleb Danvers was inspired by the character of the same name from the pretty shitty movie "The Covenant" (that I watched from beginning to end nonetheless because its cast consisted mainly of hot guys), and Leather Jacket (and maybe it was obvious, but I'mma say it anyway) was inspired by Dean Winchester, because "Supernatural" rocks.


	5. Chapter 5

Now, I've been thinking about raising the rating. I've heard opinions on both yes and no about that matter, and I've decided against it, because Justified is a violent show where there's a lot of gruesome imagery on the agenda and it's nothing special. I was worried about the, well, the brain matter that's flying through the air in this chap. But, if you think about it, in the season 1 finale of Justified there was the same thing. Generally, I guess you can say that, if you watch Justified and really like the show, you won't read stories in this fandom and solely expect rainbows and unicorns. So the rating stays T for now.

There'll be a lot of gun talk in this chapter, as well, and I, as a complete amateur on that topic, had to look for some help and found THE most amazing page for that: The Internet Movie Firearms Data Base, short imfdb! Very, very helpful. That's how I know the rifle that Devil used in the season 2 finale was actually a Ruger Mini-14.

WARNING: Use of the n-word, graphic descriptions of violence.

Now, enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

After his outbreak Caleb had excused himself and hurried into the guest room, not looking at Devil once like he was afraid of what he might see in Devil's face. Devil heard the door close down the hallway and took off his shoes. Keegan was still snoring soundly, not having heard one word of the exchange, and Devil turned on the volume of the TV and made himself comfortable; since the guest room was taken now and Devil had no intention of kicking Caleb out, he would have to sleep on the couch. It was big enough anyway; three people could have slept on it easily without getting in each other's way.

Thoughts on Caleb and the nigger boy and Nathan kept him awake until the early hours of the morning, and seemingly only minutes after he'd finally fallen asleep, the door bell rang and woke him up with a start. He could hear Keegan fall off the couch in his haste to stand up.

"Ouch! Damn… Devil, you 'wake?"

"No" Devil ground out and grabbed for a blanket that wasn't there. It took him a couple seconds to understand he wasn't in the guest room anymore.

"S'okay, stay there, I'll get the door."

Keegan did manage to get up then and let in whoever it was that stood in front of the flat in this ungodly hour. Quiet words were exchanged in low voices that mingled with the sounds of the TV that Devil had forgotten to turn off. Rustling of clothes, steps down the hallway muffled by the carpets… one sound blended into another and Devil fell into a shallow doze where he kept seeing the nigger boy's flat, but it wasn't the nigger boy there whose legs he was supposed to break. It was Caleb in one moment, then another person entirely in the next; and then it was himself, lying on the ground in Johnny's bar, and Boyd was standing above him saying that he wasn't gonna make it back, calling him son. Devil wanted to apologize, scream, say Boyd's name, anything, but he could not make a sound.

He woke up to a hand on his shoulder and took a swing, not entirely sure it had really been a dream. Luckily Caleb had good reflexes and managed to duck out of the way before grabbing his arm in an iron-like grip.

"Hey, Devil, man, it's me, wake up."

"Wha'… ow. Ow." Devil blinked against the harsh light of day. "Ow. Okay, I'm awake now, you can let go."

"Yeah, sure." Caleb did let go of his arm, and Devil shook it to get the numb feeling out. There were gonna be bruises later, he could tell.

"Sorry, man, just, you kept making strange noises and twitched and stuff, looked like you were having a nightmare."

"Yeah. Thanks. For, uh, wakin' me. Sorry I tried to punch you."

"No big deal. You alright?"

"Yeah. You?"

Caleb looked away then, and said, "Yeah, fine" to his shoes. Devil was pretty sure they'd both just lied to each other.

"Okay. What time is it, anyway?" Devil yawned heartily and looked around. He heard noise in the kitchen, but no voices; the sleeping rooms were empty save for the new arrival of this morning who'd curled up on one of the futons and snored like a bear.

"Almost noon. You gotta go somewhere today?"

"Uh, maybe…" Devil dug for his cell phone that he'd turned on silent alarm on the way home. He had seven missed calls, all from Quarles, all within the last two hours. Shit. He had to have been pretty far gone to not have felt the vibration against his leg.

"Shit. Gotta make a call, one second."

Devil stood up, his side jarring just a little now, and locked himself into the common bathroom. If Quarles was going to give him shit about not answering his phone, he didn't want anyone to hear him grovel.

"Devil, I hope you have a good explanation for why I couldn't reach you" Quarles said in way of a greeting when he picked up the call.

"Uh, sorry. I was asleep. Dead to the world, really."

"Oh. Well, I sure hope you're feeling better now."

"Yeah, sure. I'm awake. What is it I can do for you?"

"I need you to come to the office, yesterday."

Quarles sounded majorly pissed off and hung up on Devil then. It didn't sound too good, but what choice did he have but to face the lion's den? He figured there was still time to take a shower, though. He could still smell the nigger boy's flat on himself and was sure he wouldn't be able to eat anything until he got rid of it. Devil was almost sure the whole thing was only in his mind and really the smell had left him as soon as he hit the road back to Frankfort yesterday. But his body still needed a reminder of it. And since he was late anyway, a few more minutes couldn't hurt.

Half an hour later he turned up at Quarles's office, hair still damp, and was surprised to run into Russel when he stepped out of the elevator.

"Hey, Funny!" Devil greeted him with as big a grin as he was able to at that moment. Russel frowned.

"My name's Russel."

"Sure, if you says so."

Russel rolled his eyes a little, but looked amused.

"You're late, man. Quarles is fumin'; we're all just waitin' on you."

"Oops. Well, I had my phone in my pocket and still slept through all them calls. Guess I needed the rest."

"How's the side?"

"Healin' fine."

"You still don't wanna talk about it?"

"You still don't want me to call you that thing where you wanna punch me?"

"Okay, I get it. I ain't gon' ask you."

"Good. So, you got any idea what this is about? Quarles just told me to get here, nothin' else."

"Nah, ain't got no clue. Just said somethin' bout some Norwegian business men and that he'd explain it when you got here, cause he didn't wanna do it twice."

"Well, I'm here now. Should we just, I dunno… knock?"

"Yeah, sure. You go in first."

"Why me?"

"Hey, man, I got here on time, not two hours late."

Devil just grunted his assent and knocked, not really afraid of what Quarles was going to do or say. That everybody was waiting for him to arrive sounded like they needed him for this job, so any real harm was out of the question.

"Come in" they heard Quarles call through the door, and then Devil had to listen to Quarles chew him out about not answering his phone, how he always had to be on call, that him getting shot had been almost a month ago and that he had to be at the top of his game again, that Quarles couldn't abide this kind of irresponsible behavior, that if Quarles was anyone else Devil wouldn't have a job anymore, and so on and so forth. All Devil thought during that little speech was that at the end of this whole ordeal he was gonna kill the son of a bitch, with Boyd's approval or without it.

"Now" Quarles said after regaining his composure. "I did call you here for another reason than to give you a dressing-down. Please sit, the two of you."

Russel and Devil did as asked. Quarles studied them for another moment, then gave them that creepy fake smile that he apparently thought looked reassuring on him. Someone should tell him he looks like he's in pain when he does that, Devil thought. Playing poker against that man had to be like playing rock-paper-scissors against a monkey, and if Devil, who really wasn't that good at poker, was sure of it, that was saying something.

"As I already told Russel, there are some Norwegian business men in town currently, four of them to be exact, and they are looking to invest in the Oxy business. They said on the phone they might be interested in not only buying, but also in working together, with me."

Quarles made a pause for effect here. "And after thinking about it, I, as the two of you would say, call bullshit."

Devil raised a brow then. "Why, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"It just seems a little too straightforward to me. I can't explain it, maybe it's kind of my… sixth sense for defrauders."

Devil almost snorted. He was the living proof that this sixth sense did not exist. But he managed to just nod thoughtfully and make a vacuous humming sound in response.

"So when I go and meet them later in the day, I am going to need back-up, so I won't be unprotected when I go into this meeting, in case my sixth sense is right and they are more looking into killing me than actually working with me. I already have one bodyguard waiting downstairs by my car, but I would like for you, Russel, to be the second one."

"And what about me?" Devil asked, confused.

"Well, see, these men could be quite handy with a gun. I am going to need further back-up to ensure my safety."

"And I'mma provide that how exactly?"

"You said you're a 'pretty good shot', if I remember correctly" Quarles said, using quotation fingers. "Have you ever used a sniper rifle?"

"Well" Devil frowned. "I got a Ruger Mini-14 with a sniper scope, did my longest kill shot with that, so it can't be that big a difference, right?"

"Did you pack that rifle?"

"No, I didn't. I was kinda in a hurry to leave, you know?"

"Yes, I know. Well, I'm afraid I can't provide you with that Rudger Minnie…"

"Ruger Mini-14."

"Yes, that one, I'm afraid I cannot provide you with that one. You'll have to make do with what André has procured for me on this special occasion. I would want a sniper on a roof somewhere close as back-up, Devil, and since I have no sniper on my hands right at this moment, you, young man, are the next best thing."

"You want me to sit on a roof somewhere and shoot those Norwegian suckers if they do somethin' wrong, that's what it is?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I would like for you to do today. You think you can manage that?"

"Well. Yeah." Devil scratched his head. "Sure. I'mma need to see the rifle, take a couple practice shots, I guess, to see whether I can see through the scope and handle the kickback."

"Okay, if that's all it's going to take." Quarles picked up his phone and called his secretary. "Suzan, be a dear and send André up here with the rifle, thank you."

He hung up and nodded to Devil. "André will be able to give you the information you are going to need. Personally, I'm not that knowledgeable when it comes to bigger, semi-automatic firearms. We're going to drive through the woods on our way to the place where the meeting will go down, so you can take your practice shots there. Alright?"

"Sure." Devil shrugged. What choice did he have? At least with shooting he was in his comfort zone. Shooting was something he was good at, something his father had taught him when he was still a child. Little Derek had known how to use a hunting rifle before he'd been properly able to use cutlery. He knew how rifles were supposed to feel and smell in his hands. When Devil was holding a rifle, he felt safe. He hated the thought of killing someone on Quarles's behalf, had, for some reason that appeared utterly naïve to him now, never expected that to happen. But then he thought about the non-existent sixth sense the man prided himself on, and he hoped it just wouldn't come to that.

André did come up the rifle then, and it was a scoped Colt M4A1, a beautiful rifle, slightly heavier than Devil was used to, but he was sure he'd manage. They got on the road in a soccer-mom-type van that Devil felt a little out of place in, and Quarles made good on his promise to let Devil take some practice shots in the woods. The first three were a little off, with Devil trying to adjust to the weight, range and alignment. He looked for a target through the scope and found a tree with a rather large knothole on the side about 150 yards far that made for a perfect target. Shot number four scraped its outer rims. Five and six hit the bulls-eye. Seven was a little off again when the kickback jarred Devil's side. Eight was bulls-eye again, and nine killed a stray bird that passed the tree at a height of about seven feet at the wrong time.

"Impressive" André said, who'd followed the target practice with binoculars. "I think you're good."

"I know I am" Devil corrected him and shouldered the rifle, proud of himself.

They continued the drive and arrived at the place for the meeting two hours early, just in case the Norwegians were there early, as well. The meeting would happen on a large public square in a park; Devil didn't even exactly know where they were at, if they were still in Kentucky, or already in Indiana, or maybe even Ohio. If they had crossed any borders, he hadn't been aware. There was one building close enough for Devil to set up shop on the roof. Quarles gave him an earpiece through which he would be able to listen in on Quarles's part of the conversation. Watches were compared. Devil got sent on the roof, and Quarles, Russel and André hid the car about half a mile away so it wouldn't be seen and then walked the distance back to seat themselves on some benches, André and Quarles on one bench and Russel on another one maybe twenty feet from them. Russel proceeded pretending to text on his phone, and Quarles pretended to read a paper while André looked around.

Devil checked his cell phone. One and a half hours until the time of the meeting. What the hell was he supposed to do now? His phone rang just in time. It was Russel.

"Hey, Funny" Devil greeted him.

"Hey, man. You bored yet?"

"Out of my fuckin' mind. Am I just supposed to wait here? I'll get sunstroke!"

"You might, you know, the shiny white bastard that you are."

"Hey now, if I'm a shiny white bastard, what's Quarles then?"

"That's easy. If he were any more white, he would be see-through."

Devil laughed until he had tears in his eyes, and he heard Russel try to suppress his chuckles over the line, not being quite successful with it.

"Ah-hum. Thanks, man, I needed that."

"No problem. How's it goin' up there anyway, 'cept for impendin' sunstroke? You think you can even get a, uhm, good view?"

"Well, it's gotta be 150 yards at least, maybe more. I ain't never had to shoot that far. The scope's pretty good, though, and the air's calm as you please, so maybe." Devil waited a beat before adding, "Though I hope it ain't gon' come to that."

"I thought so. Me neither, by the way. I ain't never had to, uh, do that. I didn't really wanna start now."

"You ain't never shot somebody?" Devil couldn't mask his surprise.

"Nah. I'm more of the… physical type, if you get my meanin'."

Devil thought of the leg breaker thing and thought he might.

"But you packin', right?"

"Yeah, HE wanted me to."

"And you do know how to shoot straight?"

Devil looked through his scope and focused it on Russel, and he saw him shrug uncomfortably.

"Well, I can hit a tin can from thirty feet, an' that's about it."

"Sounds… impressive."

"Shut up, Mr. 'I don't miss on short distance'. It's gonna have to be enough for today."

Devil believed he heard a touch of insecurity in his voice.

"It's gonna be, Funny, you don't worry. I got twenty-one shots left, I got you covered."

"And HIM?"

"You mean Quarles? Mh… well, if I can't amend it… okay, him, too."

"And what about André?"

"Nah, I don't like him. His name's stupid."

"Hey now, I got a cousin named André."

"Yeah, well, he ain't here, is he?"

They bantered back and forth for a few more minutes, and it felt… good. Like he was back home and talking to Johnny or some old buddy from the AB or the mines. Like Russel, or Funny, as Devil had taken to calling him now, based on their last conversation, was a friend now. He was still a nigger, but he was also still willing to ignore Devil's past, ignore the tattoos on Devil's arms and neck, in favor of talking to him like a friend would. And Devil thought that here in Frankfort at least, he could use all the friends he could get. And Funny WAS pretty cool for a nigger.

"Hey, man, sorry, HE is lookin' at me like he's gon' shoot me himself if I don't hang up now."

"Alright, man. Jus' remember, I got you covered."

"Yeah. See you on the other side."

They hung up then, and Funny's last comment sat like a stone in Devil's stomach. Still a little over an hour till encounter. He really did not want to shoot anybody in Quarles's name.

But, it occurred to him, if he did have to shoot anybody, he'd just do it for Funny. Yeah. That Devil would be able to deal with. Even if Funny was just a nigger, he'd rather save him, and the poor, good-as-dead nigger boy, and even Limehouse and entire goddamn Noble's Holler, than he'd save Robert Quarles. Devil took his eyes off the scope for a second and wondered whether that hate was uncalled for.

Was it, though? That man had managed to turn Devil against Boyd, the man he knew best, the man who had recruited Devil so long ago, had given his life a direction when Devil had thought he'd lost it all. It was the biggest mistake – or at least ONE of the biggest mistakes Devil had ever made, and it was all. His. Fault.

Nah, he thought. Quarles will get what Quarles deserves.

The minutes ticked away. It was afternoon, and thankfully some clouds shimmied in front of the sun and took some of its glare away. The roof of the building Devil was positioned on was encased by a cement wall that was about hip-high, so Devil had to crouch the entire time to not be in plain sight. At least the M4A1 was painted in a dull black with matt finish so it wouldn't catch any light. If these Norwegians knew what they were doing, they'd be checking the roofs. Devil just hoped he'd be quick enough on the uptake to duck when needed.

Then finally four o'clock rolled around. It was five minutes to four, actually, when four men walked through the park and somehow drew Devil's attention to them. He didn't even know exactly what it was that made them so out of place, but they were. He'd switched his earpiece on half an hour ago and listened to Quarles's quiet time-to-time chatter with André while scoping the area. Now he heard Quarles's voice, loud and clear, in his ear.

"Devil. It's them. Duck until I tell you otherwise. Right now."

Devil didn't need to be told twice; he'd already disappeared behind the wall before Quarles had even finished talking. He waited and counted the seconds. Thirty seconds, a minute, and Quarles didn't say anything to him anymore.

His cell phone vibrated. It was a text, from Funny; it said, 'Put binoculars away. Safe 2 come up.' So Devil did. Slowly, so as to not attract any attention, he raised first barrel, then head over the wall. The crouch he was in was hell on his side, but right now he couldn't care for it. Looking through the scope, he found Quarles and André in no time since they were still on the bench. Looking for Funny, he found him to be walking in their direction, sauntering along like he was just enjoying the weather.

The four men in suits were coming closer, as well. One of them actually had binoculars hanging on straps around his neck. Very inconspicuous. Didn't look like Norwegians, though; Devil had always imagined them to be blond. They were all different shades of brunette, the lot of them. They reached Quarles then, as did Funny. Devil reckoned he had a small caliber handgun stuffed into the back of his pants, hopefully with the safety on.

Devil listened to Quarles talking to them, greeting them in the same falsely cheery way he greeted everyone with.

"Hello, Mr. Yitterdal. I hope you found the place alright?"

Devil could hear Mr. Yitterdal answer, albeit a bit muffled and not as understandable as Quarles's Oxford English due to his rather strange accent. Devil had never met any Scandinavians until now; he had no idea how they talked.

"Yes, yes. Quite convenient for you to pick a public place, is it?"

"Well, I wouldn't want anything to happen that we would both regret" Quarles said, smiling. "Now, let's talk business. When we were on the phone, you said something about investing in the material needed to create Oxycodon…"

Devil blended their talk out as well as he was able to, focusing solely on the Norwegians and their body language. One of them was standing dangerously close to Funny. Devil could see bulges in the backs of their suits. They were all packing. Shit. He fished his cell phone out without taking his eye off the scope and tipped a text, half-blind, sending it to Funny. 'All packin Bware', it said. He pushed send and focused all of his attention back on the encounter. Ten seconds later Funny looked at his cell phone and showed it to Quarles. Devil could hear a very quiet voice in his ear say, "Got a text from Devil, Sir, you might wanna see."

Quarles looked at the cell phone, reading Devil's text, and his mouth molded into a grim expression that changed into another fake smile just a beat later.

"Well, well" he said. "It has come to my attention that you and all your, uhm, 'business partners', like you said they were, are carrying guns in the backs of your pants. Would you care to explain why you felt the need to do that if we're only having a meeting?"

Mr. Yitterdal flinched and made to turn around. Devil unlocked the safety and released a shaky breath.

"Oh, I wouldn't turn around now, Mr. Yitterdal. If you do, my sniper will shoot you."

"What?"

"You heard me. You thought I wanted to meet in public so I would be safe in case you tried something, correct? And you thought that automatically made you safe, as well? Well, you guessed wrong. I got a sniper positioned on the roof of that building. He's listening in on the conversation. One word from me, he shoots. So I would think twice about trying something."

The Norwegians stilled, their postures stiffening. Devil thought he heard some angry whispering in a strange foreign language, presumably something along the lines of "I thought you checked the roofs, dumbass!"

"So, Gentlemen. Would you please tell me now what it really is that you came here for. And keep in mind the sniper and that we are all armed, as well."

From his position on the roof, looking at Quarles, André and Funny's faces and the backs of the Norwegians, Devil could see the Norwegian on the far right side, the one standing directly across from Funny, ball his hands into fists. Shit. That guy was twitchy. The air was still now, the heat of the day oppressive. The clouds had pushed along and the sun was in full glaring mode again, making sweat run down Devil's back. His side was really bothering him now. The men in his scope stood there, still as fucking statues, and the entire situation seemed like an old Wild West stand-off kinda thing. The one who twitched first would get shot. And Devil was sure, no, KNEW it would be the guy across from Funny. He knew.

Devil saw the guy's hand move, then, in a sudden, unnatural movement behind his back, and he shut off all thought; he had the guy in his scope, the back of his head, and Devil didn't need to think about it now, he knew Funny wouldn't be able to pull his gun and unlock the safety in time to defend himself. Devil pulled the trigger and took the shot.

It rang around the quiet park like an explosion, suddenly everybody was screaming and ducking. The brain matter of the Norwegian Devil hat hit bulls-eye in the head splattered onto Funny, who looked utterly dumbstruck. Two more shots were fired, but not from Devil; Quarles and André then. Devil set his sights on them. There was one guy still standing, and Devil didn't have the time to aim the shot perfectly, he just needed to stop him from shooting anybody, so he got him in his scope rudimentarily and pulled the trigger again, twice. One scraped him on the shoulder, making him drop his gun. The second shot hit him in the upper back. He fell and didn't get up again.

Searching the area through the scope, Devil saw that four bodies were lying on the ground, and they were all brunettes in suits. No losses, then. Quarles, André and Funny were gone, probably running to the car now, before polies showed up. Standing, Devil packed up his stuff and raced down the fire escape as fast as his burning side would allow; in that weird crouching position the kickback had been absolute hell, and Devil had trouble breathing when he reached the floor.

The soccer-mom-van raced by him then, coming to a screeching halt about thirty feet ahead of Devil, and he ran the distance despite the pain, hopping into the back seat. The car sped off and Devil leaned forward in his seat, clutching at his side, not bothering to look at the others.

"Devil? You alright there, man?"

That was Funny. Still alive. So Devil did one thing right today.

"Fine" Devil ground out, entirely for Funny's benefit.

"What's the matter, I thought you said you could handle the kickback" André said. Devil hissed when he drove over a bump in the road.

"Not in that weird crouch on the roof, I couldn't!"

"Gentlemen, let's just calm down now, mh? I think it's safe to say that Devil did an excellent job." Quarles. He sounded so disgustingly pleased.

"What do you mean, excellent job? We were just standing there and then suddenly Hawkeye here starts shooting out of the blue! We could have-"

"What do you mean, out of the blue? The guy was goin' for it! You couldn't see from your position, but I saw, it, he was goin' for his gun, and I thought that was my cue to shoot him!"

"Was he really, or were you just hot to shoot somebody today?"

"If I's just lookin' for a kill today" Devil said and he knew right now he sounded kinda terrifying, "I woulda shot YOU, man. Not the Norwegian fuckers, jus' you. Matter of fact, I still could, right fuckin' now. I got my Beretta, you got your hands on the steerin' wheel, asshole-"

"Okay now, everybody SHUT UP!" Quarles yelled. The following silence was so filled with tension you could have cut through it. The burning in Devil's side slowly subsided, and realization sunk in on what he'd just done. He had killed two people, and at least one of them just for Robert Quarles.

"André, Devil was the one on the roof, he had the entire situation in his view, and if he says the guy was going to grab his gun, it was his cue to shoot. I believe him. You hear me?"

André nodded jerkily, his fingers holding onto the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

"Devil, I would like for you to not shoot André and refrain from threatening to do so. Do you think you can manage that?"

"We'll see."

"Devil."

"If he's gon' keep his fuckin' mouth shut."

"Devil, I want you to promise me."

"Fine, I promise I ain't gonna shoot that asshole! He keeps actin' like that, someone else's gonna do the job at one point or another, anyway."

"That's the spirit, guys! You did do fantastic, Devil. I am rightly proud of you."

Devil raised his eyes from the floor of the car then to look at Quarles, who was sitting in the passenger's seat, twisting his body a little so he could see Devil's face. What Devil felt like doing right now was to grab his Beretta and shoot Quarles in his stupid, ugly-as-fuck baby face and then shoot André in the back of his head like he said he'd do. He collected all the control and restraint he had in himself in order to not do that.

"Thank you, Sir" he bit out.

Then Devil looked at Funny, who was sitting in the seat next to him, and all fight left his body. Funny was splattered in blood and brain matter from head to toes, and was trying to wipe some of it off his face with a rag. He looked… shocked. Shocked to the bone.

"Hey, Funny."

Funny turned his head, but couldn't really look at him.

"How are you doin'?"

Funny shrugged, an uncoordinated, sluggish movement.

"I'm alive" he said.

And really, that was all Devil had promised him.

* * *

I'd written this chapter and the one before it in a matter of two days, and then afterwards I had one of THE worst migraines I'd ever had, and I felt kinda exhausted and like I'd used up all my words. I was really afraid I'd hit a road block here. But thankfully I didn't.

Now, I gotta say something else. We all know that Devil ain't a sniper. But we do know there's a sniper on the show, and that's Tim Gutterson. And I learned to love that character really only through the amazing stories of freshouttaideas, so this chapter is kind of a homage to her amazing Tim-stories. You rock!

Furthermore, I watched the season 4 finale of Misfits yesterday and cried like a little girl. I just love Rudy! Or Joseph Gilgun. Sexy motherfucker.


	6. Chapter 6

This chapter I wrote after the almost-road block after chapter 4 and 5, and to be honest, I don't care for it a lot. It's definitely not my best writing, but it had to be done. This chapter is essential for the rest of the story because it introduces an important OC. I did want to post it yesterday, but I honestly just forgot because it was a really long day and I had loads of other things on my mind... and I can't even exactly pinpoint what I dislike about this chapter, so I didn't know how to improve it... Jesus, I'mma shut up now, I'm starting to annoy myself.

One other thing: I do not have a problem with people with ginger hair. Devil does, though.

WARNING: Use of the n-word (though really just twice, as far as I remember), implied sex (and really just implied).

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 6

* * *

The rest of the drive Devil stared out of the window at the passing landscape, not seeing it at all, only seeing the two men he'd shot today. He thought of what Caleb had said, about creating an It and not being able to shut it off. He hadn't understood it at the time, but now, he thought, seeing the brain matter on the pavement and the second man dropping to the ground in a heap, now he might have an idea.

His body felt numb, the pain in his side having subsided to a dull throbbing that just belonged there; Devil couldn't imagine himself without that pain anymore. It had been there for so long now he didn't remember how it was to be without it. Quarles said "Devil, I am rightly proud of you" in his head, over and over again. Nothing quite made sense right at this moment. Devil had never felt so hollow.

They dropped him off at the flat, André not grating him with a look, Funny staring out of the other window, captured in his own gruesome struggle of memories, and Quarles was the only one who even said good bye.

"You did great today. Take the weekend off."

Devil blinked at him. "It's Wednesday."

"It'll be an extended weekend then. You deserve it."

Devil slammed the door shut without answering or bidding his own farewells. He didn't want to hear about what he deserved or how good he'd done. He just wanted away.

The van drove off into the distance, and Devil went upstairs to the flat. When he got in, Caleb was sitting on the couch and there was quite the commotion in the kitchen and the sleeping rooms.

"What the hell's goin' on in here?" Devil asked in way of a greeting. He wasn't feeling too social today.

"Bunch of guys arrived bout two hours ago. Must be six at least, an' they're trying to order pizza right now."

"How hard can that be?" Devil dropped onto the sofa next to Caleb and put his feet on the table. He had waited all day for that, but now the noises and chatter of unfamiliar voices would not let him relax. He was starting to feel jittery and twitchy, and like there wasn't enough air in the room for him.

"What time is it?" he asked, looking at the ceiling.

"You ain't got a watch, man?"

"Jus'… humor me?"

"It's a little past six."

"Mh. Is it too early for a drink?"

"Some would say so."

"I ain't some."

Caleb nodded thoughtfully. "Hey" he said then. "Got a call. I'm gonna be leaving tomorrow morning."

"Good for you" Devil murmured. "Good for you, man."

"Are you… are you okay?"

Devil frowned. "I ain't sure. But…" He stood up. "I'm goin' for that drink now. You comin'? There's a bar right around the corner."

"Nah, thanks. Seems like I'm one of those who'd say it's too early."

"'Kay. Hey, uh, Caleb." Devil scribbled his number on a piece of paper and threw it at him.

"What's that?" Caleb asked, unfolding the scrap.

"My number, man. Case you ever wanna, you know, talk or somethin'."

Caleb gnawed on his lip. "Sure… yeah, maybe." A little smile curled his mouth upwards. "'Less you're just trying to get in my pants."

"Dream on. I'mma get shitfaced now. Bye."

"Bye." Caleb gave him a little salute before Devil shut the door behind himself again. He was pretty sure Caleb wasn't ever going to call, but you could never know.

* * *

And the next thing Devil knew, he was lying in someone else's bed with the worst hangover since he'd been 23 years old, blinking against the blur in his eyes. When his sight cleared enough for him to see further than three inches, he understood that he was lying on his stomach on the right side of the bed (whoever this bed belonged to) and staring at his right forearm, where the bruises that Caleb's fingers had left the day before were turning a very deep purple.

Light shone in his eyes and he clenched them closed again, releasing a heartfelt groan. Shit. The last time he'd been blackout drunk and had woken up in a stranger's bed was almost ten years ago. What the hell had happened to elicit this reaction?

It all came rushing back to him then. Quarles. Funny. That asshole with the stupid name. Norwegians, and a M4A1, and two bodies on Devil's account.

Shit, he thought. That's what I've been trying to forget!

Devil reckoned that it hadn't worked after all. He turned his head to the other side to have a look at the part of the room that he hadn't seen yet, and came face to face with a pair of dark brown eyes and a flood of wavy hair of the same color.

"Jesus" he said and flinched back a little. That chick had scared the hell out of him just now, but his body apparently wasn't able to express a yell.

"No, it's just me" she said, like it was a joke, but she wasn't smiling, just studying him with an expression one could have interpreted as, 'What the fuck did I do last night?'.

"Yeah, well" Devil murmured, blinking. "Scared the shit outta me. How long you been starin' at me like that?"

"I don't know. Maybe a couple minutes. I was wonderin' when you were gonna wake up… or if I had to call an ambulance, cause you were pretty far gone last night."

Now that she reminded him of it, Devil buried his face in the fluffy pillow and groaned. Christ Almighty, his head was going to explode.

"You okay?"

Devil wondered himself why people seemed to feel compelled to ask him that so much here in Frankfort; he'd heard that question in the one month he'd been here more often than in an entire year down in Harlan. But then again, in Harlan he always WAS okay. He didn't usually get shot and had to shoot somebody for someone he hated with all his heart and didn't have to pretend to beat up good-as-dead nigger boys and get shitfaced drunk and bang a strange creepy chick and forget all about it afterwards.

"I'mma be fine" he said, muffled by the pillow. "Nothin' a shower and some aspirin ain't gon' fix… shit" Devil added and looked at her after wracking his brain for a few seconds. "I… I'm real sorry, I don't even remember your name."

"It's alright, I ain't surprised. I'm Nina."

"Nina. Hey. I'm-"

"Devil, yeah, I do remember your name. Kinda hard to forget."

She, Nina, still wasn't smiling, but she didn't look all that pissed, either. It surprised Devil a bit, to be honest; the last chick he'd pulled this stunt with had gone into full-blown bitch mode the second he admitted to not knowing her name anymore, and had kicked him out onto the street in only his boxers. Devil preferred this, by a long shot. It was awkward, but drunken mornings after almost always were.

"Right" he said, just to say something. "Uh. Sorry. Could I, maybe, use your shower or somethin'?"

Nina sighed. "Yeah, sure. It's the first door on the left when you leave the bedroom."

"Thanks."

Devil took seemingly forever to get into a seating position. It took him seemingly forever to notice he was naked, too. Well, of course he was. That answered that question. Looking around he couldn't find any of his clothes in reach and decided, to hell with it, she'd have seen him in all his glory before anyway. In the dark, though. He noticed his bandage was still semi-fastened over the gun shot, dangling from a single thread of medical tape. Ripping it off quickly like you did with a band-aid, he scrunched it up into a tight little ball and slowly stood up.

Yep, his side was still giving him hell. Must have been some action he'd had last night, Devil thought.

Devil felt Nina's eyes on his naked butt, but he wasn't one to blush, never had been. Had he been feeling better, he might have added his two cents in a "Like what you see?" kinda way, but he was really feeling like shit. The hangover from hell, paired with the memories of yesterday and the pain in his side, made for a rather un-cheerful morning mood.

Devil found the bathroom easily enough and when the hot water hit the tender skin around the scabbed-over injury, he hissed. But on the rest of his body, the water felt like absolute heaven. He'd felt quite the strain in his legs from having to hold the awkward crouch on the roof for so long, and his arms, not used to the weight of the rifle, were sore, as well. His head pounded, and for a split second, he thought he might vomit into that girl Nina's shower, which would have made him really uncomfortable; but Devil had never been the vomiting-type when it came to hangovers. His other cousin, Lewis, had been able to drink as much as he wanted, and even when he had the worst hangovers you could possibly have, alcohol poisoning and an entire day in the bathroom chucking up your guts, he'd never even once had a black-out. In turn, Devil would have blanks in his memory, but only in rare cases did he have to throw up. It was their separate alcoholic super powers, they'd always joked.

Stepping out of the shower when he finally felt clean enough, he thought about showing a modicum of decency and wrapped a towel around his hips. But Nina wasn't in the bedroom anymore when he entered; he heard rustling across the hallway, and the clatter of what sounded like pans and plates. Breakfast? Devil sure hoped so.

He found his pants on the floor, half hidden under Nina's side of the bed. No wonder he hadn't seen them there. He found his socks, one on the floor in the door way, one dangling from the ceiling fan, along with his boxers (and wasn't that a sleight of hand?), and as he carefully got dressed, he found his Beretta lying on the bookshelf next to the dresser and looked for his shirt and vest, coming up empty. It made Devil anxious. He couldn't give two shits about the shirt, but he loved that vest. It had five year patches on it, for the five years he'd been a part of the AB. And it had a Welsh patch on it, because Devil knew his daddy's father had immigrated here from Wales. Devil had owned that vest for almost twenty years now.

Oh well, he thought, trying to calm himself. It's gonna turn up one way or another. How many biker vests could Nina have lying around here anyway?

Out of need, for he didn't find anything else he could have put on, he entered the small, homey kitchen shirtless, this time uncomfortably aware that Nina had free view of his gunshot wound, and he hoped she wouldn't ask him about it. He just needed to get the hell out of here now.

Or, Devil thought when he saw the fried eggs and his stomach made a sound like a dying animal, after breakfast. Yeah, after breakfast was soon enough. Wasn't that common courtesy after a one-night-stand? Having breakfast together?

Nina noticed him and smiled. "Hey there. Feel any better?"

"Sure. Smells good."

She shrugged. "I figured I could make us breakfast."

"That's cool."

Now that she was standing in front of the stove, Devil had the first good look at her, and damn it, she was hot. Thick, brown curls that about reached her shoulder blades, and those nice brown eyes that had studied him so thoroughly. She was shorter than him by about eight inches, and with nice tits and ass, as far as he could tell with what she was wearing… Oh. She was wearing his shirt.

"So that's where my shirt went" he said, raising a brow. Nina blushed a little.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Did you look for it?"

"Just a little. I, uh, I had a vest to go with that, you don't by any chance know where that went…?"

"It's on the couch, in the livin' room. I found it on the floor there."

"Oh, alright."

"Now, you wanna sit down, have some eggs? You like 'em fried, right? I hate scrambled eggs, they give me headaches."

Devil snorted a little at that and took a seat. "Fried's jus' fine, thanks."

"Okay then, there you go."

Nina loaded two fried eggs on his plate and then sat across from him, and after two minutes of silence he looked up and saw that she was staring at him. No, not at him, at his chest. And his arms. First he thought she was inspecting his tattoos, but then her eves wandered along, and Devil understood. Holy crap. The hot chick he'd fucked last night was checking. Him. Out.

Nina noticed then he'd caught her staring, and she blushed a little again. But, damn, he thought, she's kinda cute that way.

"So, uhm, Devil" Nina said, probably to fight against the impending awkwardness, "tell me somethin' about yourself."

"Well, what do you wanna know?" Devil asked and shoved some eggs into his mouth. He was starving.

"Oh, I dunno, we could start with your real name. I just doubt somehow your parents actually christened you Devil."

"Fair enough… well, my name's Derek. Lennox."

"Nice to meet you, Derek Lennox, I'm Nina Romano." She smiled at him, and something compelled Devil to smile back a little. "And where do you live?"

"Right now I'm stayin' in one of 'em CAG flats the Dixie Mafia's got all around town, but originally I'm from Harlan, down south." Devil said it like it was nothing special because, he thought, if he didn't try to make a big fuzz of it, maybe she wouldn't, either. He didn't want to keep it secret, though. He had enough secrets to carry around with him currently, he didn't need another one.

Devil saw Nina trip over "Dixie Mafia", and she looked like she really wanted to ask about it, but what came out of her mouth instead was, "CAG flat?"

"Yeah, C-A-G, stands for 'Comin' And Goin'', cause nobody ever stays there long. Cept for me, I guess, cause I been there a whole fuckin' month now. The place is a mess. Yours, on the other hand, it's real nice."

"Oh, thank you" she said and smiled again, even bigger this time, and she really was cute, he thought. She hadn't asked about the Dixie Mafia. Maybe she didn't want to know, he thought. After all she was living in Frankfort, she had to have some idea of it, right? Maybe she'd been involved with someone from the Dixie Mafia before and knew it was safer not to ask. Whatever the reason was, Devil decided he liked her and that it was an absolute shame he had no memory of banging her. Perhaps he could try to right that wrong.

"You know what, maybe I should go now" he said, looking at the clock over the stove that said it was past noon already. "But I'mma tell you somethin'."

"What?"

"How bout we go out on a date or somethin', and then we can get to know each other a little better and we can talk while I ain't completely drunk off my ass, so I'll even remember your name the next day. How's that sound?"

"That sounds… perfect." Now Nina was outright grinning at him, and Devil felt like grinning right back.

"You can tell me what happened to your side, then" she added, expectantly, and Devil hesitated for a moment. No secrets, he reminded himself.

"Sure" he said, shrugging. "If you gon' ask, I'mma tell you."

"Can't wait."

"So, I could pick you up here, say, tomorrow night? Round eight?"

"Yeah, that's great."

"Uhm… you mind tellin' me where 'here' is, though" Devil looked at her sheepishly. "Cause I ain't got no idea. Don't even know how I got here. I didn't drive, did I?"

"Nah, you didn't. We walked here, or, in your case, stumbled. The bar's six blocks down the road, to the right when you come out the door."

"Shit" Devil said, impressed. "I was still able to walk six blocks? Lewis woulda been proud of me!"

"Who's Lewis?"

"Cousin" Devil answered shortly. "But, tomorrow, right? Don't wear anythin' too fancy. That ain't my kinda thing."

"No worries, it ain't mine, either" Nina said and smiled again. She disappeared into the bedroom quickly to change and came back with his shirt in hand, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe. After donning shirt and vest and his boots that had been abandoned by the door, he looked at her pretty face and thought he should at least remember how it felt to kiss her, so he leant forward and she didn't lean back.

It felt, as Devil reckoned when he pulled back again, pretty fucking good. Judging from the look on Nina's face, she thought so, as well, and her smile was a little dreamy now when she told him good bye and shut the door behind him.

This, Devil thought, is just fucking awesome. Turned out Frankfort had some good sides, as well. He couldn't wait for tomorrow night to come around.

* * *

When Friday night did finally come around, Devil had to admit he was just a tad bit nervous. Don't be ridiculous, he told himself. You're a grown man. But he also was a grown man who hadn't been on a proper date in ten years. He thought of that time, back then, and just congratulated himself that at least Nina didn't have ginger hair.

When he'd swaggered into the flat, Keegan had just asked him what he was so giddy about and Devil looked at him like he'd gone insane because Derek Lennox was never giddy. Ever. Well, maybe sometimes. Robbing banks had made him giddy. Apparently dating a hot chick made him giddy, too. Anonymous one-night-stands and visiting whores hadn't made him giddy, and now Devil really saw the value in that chance encounter of last night. Quarles made good on his promise to give him the long weekend off, as well, and didn't call him, neither on Thursday nor on Friday.

The date was good, better than Devil would have expected. He'd racked his brain over what to do with her and since eating out in some fancy restaurant was nothing he could imagine doing, considering he'd never really done it before, he thought maybe they could go see a movie (Keegan had told him there was a movie theater next to the Franklin Square Shopping Center, ten minutes down south) and then have a drink in the bar.

And that was what they did; see a movie, and have a drink. They had the choice between some chick flick with that kid from High School Musical (and that was a clear no on Devil's account because, as giddy as he might be about this, he would have rather shaved his head, took his hair, braided a noose out of it and hanged himself with that than see a movie based on something by Nicholas Sparks) and some run-of-the-mill action flicks with Jason Statham and consorts, which Nina gave her veto to. They got lucky then because they found out that the theater also showed movies in 3D, and they settled on watching Prometheus. Aside from the more disgusting alien shit, Devil thought it was pretty good. Nina clung to his arm the whole time (and, yeah, no horror movies for that girl, he thought) and once clamped so hard on the bruises Caleb had left Devil had to suppress a yell. But, dear Lord, he told himself, it's worth it.

Afterwards they had a drink and no uncomfortable silences whatsoever. The bar was full and loud and they were tucked away in a corner booth, and Devil consciously cut back on the booze this time, because he did not want to be drunk if they took it to her flat again.

Nina had a Cosmopolitan in front of her, the girliest drink Devil could imagine, and took another sip, then asked him the question Devil had dreaded.

"So. What happened to your side?"

Devil sighed. "Well. I said I'd tell you, so… yeah. I got shot."

Nina just nodded, like she'd expected it. This was Frankfort, Devil reminded himself. She might have seen it coming.

"Was it the police?" was her next question, and Devil frowned.

"What? No!"

"So what exactly are you involved in then?" Nina studied him closely. "Cause you have to be involved in somethin' to get shot, you know. I ain't stupid. Dixie Mafia's practically omnipresent in this city. Half of the people are involved, the others ain't. I'm the other half, but that don't mean I ain't aware of nothin'."

"I can't tell you what I'm involved in, for a lot of reasons" Devil said. "Sorry. It's for your own safety. But mostly, it's for mine."

"But… the polies, they're…"

"Not onto me, as far as I know" Devil continued. Nina nodded slowly.

The situation felt entirely unreal to him again. Here he was, sitting in a bar with a hot chick that had taken him home with her two nights before even though he'd been so drunk he could barely walk, and now she was asking him questions he knew would cost him his life if he answered them (and presumably hers, too), but she didn't seem to be all that bothered with it. Devil liked this girl, Nina. He just liked her and hoped that the boat hadn't sailed on them having sex tonight.

At around midnight Nina asked him if he wanted to come to her flat for a coffee or something. That was how she phrased it: "A coffee, or somethin'". In no world could Devil have imagined saying no to that request.

And sex they did have. This time Devil remembered every last detail. He could only speak for himself, of course, but he thought it was awesome, and he felt like he'd done pretty good, too, judging from the blissed-out look on Nina's face. He spent the night there again, this time falling asleep to images of Nina's smile and Nina's tits instead of good-as-dead nigger boys and Norwegian brain matter splattered onto Funny and the asphalt-covered ground in that park in the middle of nowhere.

* * *

I based Nina on the actress Alicia Lagano, just in case you want a face to go with the writing. And for those who might've wondered (although I guess now it's kinda too late since Funny and Keegan have been there for quite some time and those of you who like them have already given them faces) Funny is based on the looks of Aldis Hodge (a VERY handsome young man), and Keegan is based on Jason Lee's role in "Big Trouble", Puggy. That man MADE that movie.

Oh! And another OC that ain't mine has been mentioned. Lewis Lennox is also property of TellatrixForever and I just used this character for the purposes of this chapter.

You go on ahead and review, or not. You know which one I'd prefer. *wink* *wink*


	7. Chapter 7

So, this is the chapter were finally Wynn Duffy makes his entrance. I have to say, Wynn Duffy is one of my favorite character on the show. The guy is so mean, and so cool, and so fucking funny sometimes, and he lives in a motor coach, I mean, seriously! He's just awesome. And sneaky. I had a lot of fun writing his first meeting with Devil. I love his bodyguard Mike, too, how he finally spoke up in the end of season 4, about not wanting to run away like a little bitch. (I think he did, though, because he's still with Duffy when we see them at the end of the season finale.) Anyway, I hope you have as much fun reading as I had writing it.

WARNING: Physical violence, beating of teenagers (if that's even worth a warning. I'm kidding, I'm kidding!), underage drinking.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 7

* * *

Devil and Nina slept in, until after noon, and had sex again. Morning sex. Devil would have liked to high-five someone on that, because, how lucky could he get? They arranged to meet again, tonight, since it was Saturday. Nina told him to come to her place and let himself be surprised. Devil was looking forward to it.

"Where you been, dude?" Keegan asked him when he stepped into the flat. Keegan was sitting cross-legged on the couch, eating cornflakes for lunch and watching the Star Wars episode of Robot Chicken. Devil slumped down next to him and smirked.

"I had a date with a hot chick last night, and tonight we're goin' out again" he said. "That's where I been, man. Heh."

"Don't you got work or somethin'?"

"Nah, Quarles gave me the weekend off. So far he's been keepin' to it, too, so I keep my fingers crossed."

"Cool, man, good for you. There's some left-over spaghetti from yesterday, case you're hungry."

"Nah, me an' Nina had a late breakfast. She said I should let myself be surprised tonight." Devil rubbed his hands together. "It's gonna be so fuckin' awesome."

"How'd you meet her, anyway?" Keegan asked slurping milk from his cornflakes bowl.

"Oh, well. You… did we even see each other on Wednesday?"

"Yeah, I think so. You were sleepin' on the couch, remember, and some guys arrived at like 6 am and when I asked you if you're awake you said no."

Devil frowned. "I don't even remember that. Where were you? I was here for like two minutes in the evenin', didn't see you anywhere, jus' Caleb."

"I was out doin' laundry. So you DID come home on Wednesday. I thought you just disappeared."

"Anyway. I went to have a drink in the bar round the corner, you know, the one with the red door and the blue flashy sign above it?"

"Uhuh."

"Well, that day just sucked. Like, for real. So, one drink turned into, I don't even know how many, and then next mornin' I wake up in her bed and we have breakfast and I ask her out on a date and she says yes, and here we are now."

"Huh. Sounds like a lovestory if ever there was one, dude."

"Shut up. Least I'm gettin' some!"

Keegan hit Devil with a pillow, and Devil pushed him in retaliation, not taking into account that Keegan was really skinny and had about as many muscles as a seven-year-old, and hence Devil pushed a little too hard and Keegan sailed off the couch like a paper sheet. There were almost comic-like rumbling noises when he landed on the floor, like someone had written "THUMP" into the air above him, and the spoon in his bowl clattered from side to side.

Devil grimaced. "Sorry, man, I didn't mean to…"

Keegan sat up. "I'm okay, I'm okay! And I managed not spoil anythin' either!"

He held up his bowl, and sure enough, it was still half-full.

"I'm impressed, you idiot" Devil said and gave him a hand. "You should work out a little, you know. Watch a little less TV and stuff. Then maybe I wouldn't be able to push you off the couch like that."

"Well, where would I go?" Keegan asked, eyes already drawn back to the TV and a stop-motion edition of Han Solo talking about reactors.

"Nerd."

"Whatever, dude. You got any laundry?"

"Now that you mention it…"

* * *

It was six o'clock, and in two hours Devil was going to meet up with Nina for their second date. He was just debating whether or not he should take his gun with him; they'd be spending the entire night at her place, so he wouldn't really need it. But Devil never left the house without his gun. He felt unprotected and naked without it. The vibration of his cell phone stopped his contemplations. He looked at the display and swore.

"No. No, no, no. Not NOW."

It was Quarles. Devil pressed a fist to his forehead. He could so not use the pasty bastard right now. The vibrating stopped for ten full seconds before starting up again. It was of no use. Devil answered.

"Hello."

"Devil! You didn't answer the first time."

"Yeah, sorry. I was, uh, looking for my phone."

"Alright then. You're probably wondering why I am calling you now, seeing as I told you you'd have the weekend off."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to have to say this, you really did deserve your weekend, but I'm afraid you'll have to go somewhere tonight."

"Oh, COME – sorry." Devil took a calming breath. "Does it really have to be tonight? I kinda had… can't I do it tomorrow first thing?"

"As I said, Devil, I'm sorry, but Mr. Duffy requested speaking to you tonight, not tomorrow."

"Wait, what? Who?"

"Mr. Wynn Duffy would like to speak to you."

"Wynn Duffy? What kinda name is that? Sounds like a comic character or somethin'."

"Yes, well, you can tell him that yourself when you see him. Tonight. I gave him your number, he will text you the current address of his motor coach."

"Wait, wait. You're tellin' me that some guy who calls himself Wynn Duffy and lives in a trailer wants to see me? You, uh, care to tell me why?"

"A motor coach, not a trailer, Devil, it's important you keep that in mind. Now, as for why, I told him about the fantastic work you've done for me, and Wynn said he'd like to meet you and maybe borrow you for a job here and there."

"Borrow me, huh. I ain't a CD."

"Devil, if I foiled your plans for tonight I apologize, but you will go and talk to Mr. Duffy. That's an order."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

"Very good. Have a good night then, and send Wynn my regards."

Devil hung up without saying good bye. He was seething. Shit! For God's sake! The pasty bastard had ruined his night, and for what? Some guy named Wynn Duffy who lived in a motor home? It sounded an awful lot like a set-up, and one of the more weakly arranged, too.

But what choice did Devil have anyway? He received a text half an hour later that sent him to coordinates in the middle of nowhere again, and he had to call Nina and cancel. She sounded as disappointed as he felt. Then he had to hit the road.

When Devil arrived at the location he understood why Quarles had specifically said it wasn't a trailer; it was one monstrosity of a motor coach, and the interior was all dressed with fancy, expensive-looking timber and shit. There was a TV, and women's tennis was on it. Wynn Duffy stood up from where he'd lounged on the couch in front of the TV when Devil entered. He looked exactly like Devil had pictured him: Skinny with a suit and tie that he seemed to wear with a certain implicitness like he'd never worn anything else. Which meant he'd been born into money. Which meant that Devil couldn't stand him as soon as Duffy stepped into his sight. He had a rat face and stringy blonde hair, and an oily voice to go with it.

Mike, his bodyguard or whatever he was, told him to raise his arms and asked him whether he was carrying a gun.

"Course I am, you think I'm a moron?"

Duffy laughed. "Ha! I already like this guy. Mike, leave it. Mr. Devil is not gonna shoot me. Are you?"

"We'll see" Devil said, not about to make any guarantees to this weasel of a man.

"Well, like you said, we'll see. Come on, take a seat, then!"

Duffy sat at the table, and Devil squeezed himself in the small seating space across from him.

"Alright then" Devil started. He wanted to get this over with as fast as he could. "Quarles said you wanted to see me, so make it quick. I got plans."

"So. You're the one they call Devil."

"You don't need to ask me that, you know I am."

"Yes. Okay, not a fan of stating the obvious, I see. Now, I asked you here because, well, you are working for Robert Quarles, is that correct?"

Devil frowned. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Because, you have to understand, Robert told me about the circumstances that led to you being one of his employees, and, honestly? I'm not buying it."

Devil's eyes got real big then. That last part hit him in the gut like Duffy had delivered a kick instead of a sentence. "What?" he said.

"You heard me. I call bullshit."

Devil's mouth was apparently sewed shut for now. He just stared at Duffy. Shit. If this guy was working for, or, God forbid, WITH Quarles, Devil was dead. Deader than dead. Dead as a fucking dodo.

"Because, you see, the way it all went down, it was just too easy. Okay, Crowder shot you, that's a pretty good cover story. But the rest? It was just too easy. You give it one try and then you come crawling through the dust to Quarles, suck up to him a little, and suddenly you're his right hand, loyal to the grave? No, I don't buy it."

"No-one said anythin' bout graves" Devil ground out.

"That's true, though, Mr. Devil. May I call you Devil?"

"Everybody does. No-one's ever asked before."

"I'll take that as a yes, then. Now, Devil, I have to admit, the way you pulled this off and had everyone eating out of your hand like that, it was quite impressive."

Devil sighed. His shoulders sagged. No use in denying it, he thought. "What made me?"

"Oh, nothing, I'm sure. Quarles doesn't suspect a thing. I just knew from the very beginning that there was something not right about this. I looked into your records" (and where the hell does everybody keep getting my records from?, Devil wondered), "and it said there that you've known Boyd Crowder for over ten years, and I just doubt that you would throw that away for a perverse scumbag like Robert Quarles."

"Uhm, sorry?"

"Oh, you heard me. I hate this man. I think he's creepy, and a pervert, and my association with him is purely of beneficial reasons, for me, of course. He thinks it's for him, as well, but, what the man doesn't know…"

"So… you… don't like him?"

"Do you wanna know why you were able to trick him so easily, Devil? Because the man's a megalomaniac. He thinks he's unbreakable, and that he had you wrapped around his little finger because he let you come here, grovel before him and then gave you work to do. He really, actually thinks you're his man now. Because he would never, ever suspect anyone to go behind his back, he's that crazy."

"And you're not crazy" Devil said, raising a brow.

"The difference between me and Quarles, why you were able to trick him, but not me, is that Quarles feels safe because he never suspects anyone he thinks on his side to betray him, ever. I, on the other hand, not only suspect it, I EX-pect it, Devil. Everybody is bribable, and everybody's loyalty is purchasable, if you only know the right price."

That sounded like something Boyd might have said, and it made Devil look at Duffy in a new light. "And why exactly did you ask me to come here?"

"Because Robert told me what you did for him on Wednesday. You shot two of those Norwegian criminals who tried to screw Quarles over. I told you already I'd known from the beginning that you were probably, most likely, screwing Quarles over in Boyd Crowder's name, but now that you shot two guys for Quarles I wasn't so sure anymore. I thought that it might actually be possible that you switched sides. So I wanted to see you, and ask you what your deal is, but, turns out I was wrong."

"Well, you know what my deal is now."

"Yes, I do. The question now is, what do we do about it?"

"Well, you ain't gonna shoot me, or you would've made sure I's unarmed."

"That's correct, Devil, I have no intention of shooting you."

"Then what, Mr. Duffy, is your intention here, huh, if I may ask? Because I ain't sure I'm followin' you right now."

"Well, I thought that, maybe, the two of us could come to an agreement of our own."

Devil's frown deepened. "And what would that look like?"

"There are people here" Duffy said, leaning forward on the table a bit, "in Frankfort, that are quite the thorn in my side, people that I would like to get rid of."

"No." Devil crossed his arms. "No, no way. You can forget that idea right now. I ain't killin' nobody for you."

"Hear me out, first, Devil, mh?" Duffy smirked a little. "See, Devil, if you don't help me out with this, I might be inclined to tell my dear friend Robert about your double-dealings, and I'm betting he won't be pleased to hear that."

"Oh, so you wanna blackmail me" Devil said. "Let's see. You just offered me a deal to kill somebody for you not tellin' Quarles somethin' he really would like to know. Don't that – and correct me if I'm wrong here – but don't that mean you're kinda deep in the shit, too?"

"How so?" Duffy asked, but he was frowning, now, as well, just a little.

"Well, say you tell him bout me, and I tell him bout you in turn, Quarles ain't gon' be your 'good friend Robert' no more. I think the smart-asses call that 'quid pro quo'. You don't tell, though, and I don't tell, and we're all happy as a tornado in a trailer park."

"Interesting, Mr. Devil, interesting. Mh-mh."

"What happened to 'can I call you Devil'?"

"I can't, it's too strange, sorry. Well, now, Mr. Devil, I think you got a point there, but remember that I know Quarles better than you do, and longer, and if I tell him you're gonna tell him shit about me that's nothing but lies, he's gonna be more inclined to side with me and off you in ten seconds, before you can even say 'trailer park' one more time."

"You willin' to take that risk?"

"Are you?"

They had a stare-down then, and Devil's guts churned. Damn it, but Duffy was right. And Quarles WAS unpredictable. Just because the guy was batshit, didn't mean he wouldn't believe what Duffy told him and off Devil like he would have on the first day if Devil hadn't sucked up to him like he had. Duffy had something to lose, as well, but his chances of actually losing it were next to nothing compared to Devil's chances, for obvious reasons. He'd be killed and never be able to come home and see the hills again…

Devil chewed on his bottom lip and lowered his gaze to the table. "So what did you want me to do?" he said quietly, hating every word of it.

Wynn Duffy smiled comfortably. "I knew you were gonna see reason, Mr. Devil."

"Yeah, yeah. Cut that shit out. Now, you said you wanted me to kill some guy."

"No, I did in fact not say that. What I want you to do is kill a woman."

Devil's head snapped up so fast his neck cracked. "What? What did you say?"

"I said, I need you to kill a woman for me. I would have done it myself already, but it's common knowledge we can't stand each other, and if I kill her it'll be way too suspicious… and also I'm not that keen on killing a woman."

"Hell, me neither!" Devil yelled at him. "I ain't never killed a chick before! And I ain't gonna start now for some asshole like you!"

He stood up and turned away, ready to storm out, when he heard the click of a gun, of the safety being removed behind his back, and he turned to see Duffy pointing his weapon at him. "Sit down, please, Mr. Devil."

"You ain't gonna shoot me."

"Are you willing to take that risk?"

Devil's hand flexed for his Beretta. "Are you?"

"Mr. Devil, if you walk out of my motor coach now, it's very likely we'll both be dead, come tomorrow. I say, we're in this together. Now, sit down please, because I have things to explain to you."

Devil saw out of the corner of his eyes that Mike had a gun on him now, as well, so he decided it wasn't worth it and sat down again. "Fine" he said. "You want me to kill a chick, huh. Give me some good reasons, because if you say it's just for the hell of it you can shoot me right now and toss my body into some tar pit if you like, cause I ain't killin' anybody without a good reason for it, least of all a woman."

"That sounds fair, Mr. Devil. Listen. Stacey Granger. She's not an innocent woman, I can assure you. She's a pimp for the Dixie-"

"A pimp?"

"Yes, a pimp, Mr. Devil, because yes, there's also prostitution in Frankfort. Granger runs the biggest whorehouse of the entire northern district of Kentucky for the Dixie Mafia, and it makes for unbelievably high incomings. That whore house is a cash machine, and everybody knows it. Now, six years ago, Granger was new to the business and she needed seed capital, to start her idea of a whore house of that size, and she had nothing, so I borrowed her 200,000 dollars."

Devil whistled at the sum.

"Exactly. That was six years ago. Now Granger owns the biggest cash machine this side of Kentucky, and she still owes me my money. She won't give it to me, no matter what I do, and quite frankly, not being paid what I am owed, it makes me mad. No, it pisses me OFF."

"'Kay, I guess I know the feelin', but what good will it do you if I kill her? It ain't gonna get you your money back."

"Oh, but that's where you're in the wrong. See, if Granger dies, and I can get my hands on the whore house and sell it, I'll get not only my two-hundred-thousand plus interest back, I'll get much, MUCH more. Of which I would be willing to give you a cut, Mr. Devil. Provided that you kill her and help me get my hands on that whore house."

"And how would I do that? I mean, helpin' you get your hands on it?"

"That's really the easy part. You just have to scare those who might be interested in buying it once Granger is dead off of buying it, just until I get my hands on it and sell it for more than the price that it's actually worth. Because, you see, once that bitch is six feet under, people will try to buy it from the property owners for a smaller sum, and the property owners will most likely give it away to the first bidder who shows any interest. The property owners are conservatives and hate the fact that there's a whore house on their grounds, they only tolerate it because they get a pretty nice cut of Granger's incomings, and when that stops, they'll want it gone. If you manage to scare all potential buyers off and I get my offer in first, I'll get the whore house, I'll get my money, you'll get a nice reward for your troubles, and we will all be happy as… what was that nice analogy you used?"

"A tornado in a trailer park."

"That's the one." Wynn Duffy nodded emphatically. "So, what do you say?"

"You want me" Devil summed it up, "to kill a chick-"

"A lying, stealing pimp" Duffy corrected.

"-whatever, a chick, and you want me to intimidate possible buyers of that chick's cathouse, and in turn you ain't gonna rat me out to anybody and I'll even get well-paid for it?"

"If you don't rat me out to anybody, either" Duffy added. "What do you say? Do we have a deal?"

Devil took Duffy's outstretched hand and shook it in a tight grip. "We have a deal."

He felt a little like he'd just sold his soul to the devil when Wynn Duffy finally let his hand go and told him they'd be in contact. Devil just hoped it wouldn't be the end of him.

* * *

The bad feeling didn't leave Devil when he left the motor coach. It certainly didn't get any better when he saw that his truck had been towed off while he'd been talking to Duffy. There was a note stuck to the pole of the next street lamp, it said where he could pick it up, and that he would have to pay 200 bucks to get it back. And now he had to take the bus.

Devil was glad he still had money on him. And his Beretta. This area looked pretty shady.

When he did finally find a bus station, Devil had to wait for thirty minutes. The bus that came, finally, was almost empty and smelled like vomit. There was a girl sitting in the middle, an older lady in the front, and some guy with glasses and a suitcase was asleep in the back. He was snoring. Devil took a seat in the middle, on the opposite side of the girl, a few rows behind the old lady. Watching the landscape pass by, he suddenly wished that Nina was here. Or, rather he wished he was with Nina, at Nina's place. The CAG flat had been overrun with people today, enough that two guys had to share the bed in the guest room and another one had to sleep in front of the bed, on the floor, or they wouldn't have been able to fit everyone in. And the worst thing was, they probably had to stay for at least a week. They'd be gone all day, but most days, so would Devil, and come evening, the flat was bursting at the seams.

All the commotion would hardly let Devil get any sleep, now that he was residing on the couch with Keegan. The couch was big, and not that uncomfortable, but it was in the middle of the flat, and when the sleeping rooms were filled to the rims, it was loud because, for whatever stupid reason Devil couldn't fathom, the sleeping rooms had no doors that you could close. How anybody was able to sleep in there, on those shitty futons and air mattresses, with a bunch of strangers, it was beyond Devil. Sleeping in a room with people he'd never met – that image frightened him, just a little. Then the rooms didn't even have doors. Suddenly Devil was even more thankful to Boyd for shooting him than he'd been before, because the bullet wound in his side had saved him from having to spend a night in there.

The bus held at a stop, and four teenaged guys got in. They had to be about 17, and judging from their noise level and the stale smell of beer they brought with them, they were drunk and probably felt like kings. Devil tried to remember when he'd been that young. He hadn't considered himself old, but the last weeks had worn on him, and, well, now he was in his mid-thirties and found out what it was like when you fell asleep in the car and woke up with back pain and stiff knees and a cramp in your neck, and he looked at those teenagers and all he could remember about being that age was getting beaten up by his dad and wishing he were someplace else.

One of the guys started hitting on the girl. Devil hadn't really looked at her, vaguely remembered dark blond hair and nothing special about her. But he'd made the experience himself that you could in fact drink a chick good-looking, so he didn't wonder. The girl told the teenager in no certain terms to piss off, then, and teenager boy's friends turned to them. Devil got a bad feeling about it.

"What you said to me, girl?" the teenager (Devil named him Conan, after Conan O'Brien, because of his red hair) slurred. "With that bad case of guy puss you got goin' on there, you should b'lucky I even no'iced you…"

The bus took a sharp turn and Conan tumbled backwards right into the lap of one of his drunken buddies. They all had a great laugh about it and then advanced on the girl again, the lot of them this time, and Devil could see the girl shrink in on herself. She was scared. Devil rolled his eyes. He wasn't the good Samaritan here. He didn't just help strangers like that. Usually it didn't concern him what strangers dealt with. But really, he couldn't just let these drunken fuckers hurt that girl in front of him, and who else would do anything about it? The old lady, who was shrinking back in fear herself? The driver, who was, well, driving, and probably didn't go looking for trouble himself? Or maybe the guy with the glasses who still snored on like this was a Hilton suite? Who?

"Goddamnit" Devil murmured to himself. Louder he said, "Ey, yo, fellas, leave the girl be, huh?"

"Ooooh, we got a hero, guys" one of them said (Devil christened him Hellboy, because he was so fucking ugly, all he needed was some red paint and two horns and he'd look just like him; it fit because he was tall and broad-shouldered for his age, too). "You wanna be a hero, maaaaan?"

"No, 'maaaaan', I just want you to leave that girl the hell alone. Ugly as you are, any chick that looks at you with her backside's doin' you the favor."

"Hey, asshole, who you talkin' to?" the third one said (and Devil christened him Poppeye, because honest to God, he looked like Poppeye, and under different circumstances it would have cracked Devil up to no end).

The fourth one kept his mouth shut and looked inconspicuous enough for him to remain nameless for now, but Devil could see them form a wall (a drunken, badly smelling, teenaged wall) against him. They thought that because they were four and he was one, that made them stronger. Well, Devil was inclined to disagree. He was sober, he was pissed as all hell, and he had his Beretta, so technically there were two of him.

The only one Devil would have had to look out for, if the guy were sober and Devil's side still bothering him, was Hellboy. But the kid was shitfaced, and Devil's side felt pretty solid right now. He stood up, the Beretta a comforting weight against his back, and faced them in the central trail between the seats. The girl turned to look at him, fearful still, but thankful also because he'd taken the negative attention away from here. She really wasn't a pretty one, but Devil didn't particularly need to care. It wasn't her honor he was defending here. He wasn't defending anybody. Devil just wanted to blow off some steam.

"Well, boys, you just gon' stand there and look at me like there ain't nobody home?"

"Shut up, you asshole, you jus' standin' there lookin' all dumb an' shit, but I knoooow who you are" Poppeye said, and he was probably the most wasted out of all of them, because what he said really did not make a lick of sense. "I knooow who you are."

Devil snorted. "Well, then, go ahead 'n tell me, kid, cause the tension is jus'… riveting right now." He never used the word "riveting", but he'd heard Boyd say it once and this situation screamed for some of Boyd's sublimity.

Whatever Devil had said or done now, whether it was the use of the word "riveting" or just the condescending tone of voice he'd said it with, apparently it was enough for Conan and Poppeye because they launched themselves at him, with a drunken miss-coordination that made them slam into each other and then bounce to opposite sides. Conan landed on the row behind the old lady, with an almost comical "oof". Poppeye made his way over to Devil, and all Devil had to do was picture Wynn Duffy's weasely face when he told him that he wanted him to kill a woman, and he delivered one punch to Poppeye's ugly-as-fuck face to send him flying to the ground, and staying there.

Conan had righted himself in the meantime and Devil served him the same treatment as Poppeye, though the punch didn't knock him out completely, it just had him moaning inarticulate things and writhing on the ground like he was lying in a sea of hedgehogs.

Hellboy was on him before Devil could understand how someone that drunk could move that fast, and he delivered two hard punches that fit with his Hellboy-like physique. Devil felt something get knocked around in his head. A punch to the liver had him yelling and he thought, fuck this, I'm not getting beaten up by a fucking teenager, so he pulled his Beretta and pushed the barrel right into Hellboy's chin.

"You wanna punch me one more time, son, I'mma show you how much of a hero I can be" Devil growled and pushed harder. "You picked the wrong fuckin' day to mess with me, kid."

"That ain't fair fight" Hellboy said, blinking dumbly.

"Yeah, well, maybe that's because I ain't a hero, dumbass! Now let my fuckin' vest go, you piece of shit!"

The second Hellboy's fingers unclenched around the leather of Devil's vest, Devil rammed a knee into Hellboy's crotch, and when Hellboy fell to his knees with a high whining sound, Devil grabbed the hair at the back of his neck and rammed Hellboy's nose into his knee. Hellboy made a gurgling sound and passed out, as well.

Devil stuffed his Beretta back into his belt and spat out some blood. Shit, but Hellboy packed one hell of a punch. He looked at Number Four, the one who hadn't said anything, and he didn't look like he was going to say or do anything now, either. Devil realized the kid was sober, and frightened, and not of Devil, either, but of the scumbags lying on the dirty bus floor all around him.

The bus had stopped without Devil noticing. He just looked at Number Four.

"What's your name, kid?"

"R-Ronald."

"Ronald?" Devil spat out more blood and felt the little cut at the inside of his bottom lip. It wasn't deep. "Get some new friends."

"Yeah, I, uh, I'll do that."

"Glad to hear. Hey, uh, driver? Could you open the doors real quick so I can take the trash out?"

The driver did as he was told, probably too scared to gainsay him now that he'd seen that Devil was packing. Devil pushed the two unconscious kids out of the bus. Conan went willingly. The doors closed and the bus picked up its drive, and Ronald looked at Devil.

"Thanks, man" he said. Devil shrugged.

"Don't mention it." Devil felt his face. He'd have a shiner tomorrow, but for some reason, he felt better now. He hadn't even needed to picture Quarles's balls under his knee to feel some kind of deeply set satisfaction settle over him. Devil settled back in his seat and the only reminder that this had actually just happened were little specks of blood on the floor next to the doors, where Devil had spit, and where the impact of his knee with Hellboy's nose had broken it and let some leak.

* * *

So actually I'd planned to let this chapter end after Devil leaves Duffy's motor coach. That would have shortened it considerably. But I had this idea about Devil getting into a fight on a bus, don't ask me why. I just had it, and then I just tried it out and it worked pretty well for me, and it fit, too, because Devil was very, very angry and I thought it would be a good idea for him to let off some steam, and a nice opportunity to take another sneak peek into his past. There'll be more of that as the story progresses, and actually I'm planning on writing an entire story about Devil before he became Devil. But right now that's just a plan and nothing specific.

Also, when the episode was aired where you can see that Wynn Duffy AND Mike both sleep in the motor coach (I can't even remember which ep it was), TellatrixForever and I totally got lost in speculating what those two living together would look like, and if they decide what to eat by playing Rock-Paper-Scissors-Lizard-Spock, and THAT idea ended with me laughing my ass off. I'm starting to laugh again now just thinking about it. Can you imagine? XD


	8. Chapter 8

This is one of them chapters where I had exceptionally much fun with Google Maps. I express my sincere apologies to Grasshoppers Landscapes, Frankfort. I'm not saying that institution is a whore house, this is just fiction and I'm using whatever locations Google Maps has to offer me.

Also, this is the first chapter where I drop the c-bomb. I've never used the word "cunt" before, and it's only once. Wynn Duffy has a dirty mouth.

WARNING: Use of the c-word, drug use.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 8

* * *

When Devil finally did arrive back at the flat it was after midnight. The goddamn bus apparently had the function of providing a sight-seeing tour throughout entire Frankfort rather than just get you to a destination safely. The "safely" thing fell through anyway, Devil thought when the bruises in his face pulled and reminded him of Hellboy's punches. That Ronald kid was a weak one, didn't have any fight in himself, and Devil felt pretty sorry for him. There were those who cried over shit, and there were those who made others cry over shit, and after taking his daddy's abuse for so long, Devil had made the decision for himself that he'd rather make others cry over shit, than cry himself. If you behaved like a victim, people would treat you as one.

"Shit, dude, what happened to your face?"

Devil rolled his eyes; of course that would be Keegan's greeting when he stepped through the door.

"Nothin'."

"Did your date do that?"

"What? What date? No!"

"What d'you mean, what date? You told me you had a date with that chick that you banged on Wednesday…"

"Oh, right, uh, yeah. That plan fell through." Devil sat himself on the sofa next to Keegan. There were three other guys sitting there, and they all nodded to Devil with quiet respect, so Devil guessed that Keegan had told them about him getting shot. It did wonders for your credit when people heard about that here, like you'd been given a medal.

"Why? You were excited about it."

"I was, but Quarles called me. Seems just because he told me I got the weekend off, don't mean I actually do have the weekend off. I had to, uh, go see someone."

"And that someone punched you in the face?"

"Nah, that was jus' some drunk kid on the bus. Kicked him in the balls and broke his nose."

"Why'd you take the bus? You could've taken your car…"

"My car got towed off. Shit, I need 200 bucks now to get it back, almost forgot about that."

"Man, the kind of night you had."

"Tell me bout it. Hey, that offer with the weed still stand?"

"Oh, yeah, sure! You can have this one right here" Keegan said and took one joint, burned about a quarter down, right from the fingers of one of the other three guys. The guy looked at him, kind of upset, but then decided it wasn't worth the fight, and just made himself a new one.

"Thanks, man." Devil took a drag and let it fill his lungs. Instant relaxation, man, how he'd missed that feeling. His head spun a little.

"Why the change of heart? I offered you one, like, every day since you got here."

"I dealt it couple years back, did time for it, an' I jus' tried to stay off it a while, but…" Devil blew some smoke in the air and watched it dance in little forms and dissolve. "Like you said, the kinda night I had."

"Mh."

The five of them, stoned as they were, stared at the TV for five minutes before Devil blinked and asked, "What the hell are we watchin' right now?"

"I dunno" the guy whose joint Devil was smoking said and reached for the TV guide. "I think it's, uh… 'The Other Boleyn Girl'?"

"And why in the hell are we watchin' that shit?"

"Well, it's this historical thing, with Scarlett Johannson, an' I was hopin' for some tits…"

"Boring!" Keegan said and snatched the remote from his fingers, zapping through the canals. They settled on some documentary about toads and laughed their asses off and fell asleep on the couch, the smoke so heavy in the air everybody in the crowded flat got a small high off it.

* * *

The next morning Devil called Nina (something he'd planned on doing before the teenager-bus incident happened and he just forgot) and asked her whether he could maybe come by now and make up for the lost evening. Nina sounded incredibly relieved, and for a second there Devil thought that maybe she'd been afraid he'd just stood her up and made up some lousy excuse about having work to do. It did sound like that, a little, and Devil was sorry about it. It hadn't happened on his own volition, and he wanted to make sure she knew that.

So he drove the seven blocks to her apartment and knocked on her door, and they looked ridiculously happy to see each other, considering they'd only met four days prior.

"Hi" Nina said and smiled like an idiot.

"Hey" Devil said and was pretty sure his face looked the same. They forewent any other conversation and just started kissing, staggering along to the bedroom, Devil bumping his elbow on the wall in the hallway so hard he left a small dent there and hardly noticing it. Afterwards they laid in Nina's bed, her head pillowed on his arm, and talked about this and that and nothing at all.

"I ain't never flown on an airplane" Nina said.

"Me neither."

"And I ain't never seen the ocean before."

"Really?" Devil sighed and looked at her. "That sucks."

"It's okay" she smiled. "But I'd like to see it some time."

"You should."

"When'd you see it for the first time?"

"For the first and only time" Devil explained. "It was, uh…" He frowned, thinking back.

"I was, like, six or somethin'. It was the last big thing me an' both my parents did as a family together. We drove the whole way from Harlan down to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. Checked into the cheapest hotel my daddy could find, it was really small, and there was mildew in the shower an' shit, an' I had to sleep on the couch because we could only afford one bed, but honestly? It's the best days I ever had, I mean, it's the best memory I got of my childhood."

Devil smiled nostalgically. "I got to do all the normal childhood things you get to do, you know, buildin' a sand castle, and a crocodile-"

"A crocodile?"

"Yeah, I built a sand crocodile. Or maybe it was a gator, I dunno. What can I say, I was a creative kid. Sand castles get pretty boring after some time."

"I wouldn't know" Nina said, but she was laughing, and Devil continued.

"And I got to swim in the ocean, which was pretty cool, I guess. After we'd gotten home again, Dad let me see 'Jaws', though, and then I had nightmares about what could've happened to me an' stuff. But right at that moment, I just loved it. We didn't have that much to eat, an' we had to leave again after four days, but, well, it's the only vacation I ever done, so it beats never havin' seen the ocean before, huh?"

"True." Nina cuddled a little closer to him.

"Now tell me bout your best vacation."

"Well, me and my mom took the bus to Montana every year until I was old enough to move out and she couldn't force me to join her anymore…"

"What the hell's so special about Montana you had to go there every year?"

"Well, my mother gives gymnastics classes, it's her job, and in Helena Valley there's a Green Meadows Country Club where they offered her a position in the fitness center, so my mom dragged me there and I had to spend the entire summer in a Country Club in Montana, surrounded by snobs that made me feel like I ain't worth the air that I breathe because I's the daughter of one of the temporary employees, every year from when I was eight until I turned twenty."

"Shit" Devil said. "Did you tell your mom how much you hated it?"

"Yeah." Nina sighed and quirked a sad smile. "She didn't care, though. Told me to pull myself together and enjoy bein' surrounded by rich people. I guess she liked to pretend it made her rich, too."

"And it always sucked? There weren't one time when it was really cool, or somethin'?"

"Well, there was this one time when I was fourteen, I was in the deep side of the pool an' I suddenly had a cramp in my leg and the life guard who saved me totally looked like Sean Penn, so that was pretty cool."

"'Kay then, let's recap this real quick; your best vacation experience was when a guy that looked like Sean Penn saved you from drownin' in a pool full of snobs?"

"Yep. An' yours was buildin' sand crocodiles, and stayin' in a hotel with mildew in the shower in South Carolina. I guess you win."

"I guess so, too."

"You're a real lucky guy, Devil."

When Devil left Nina's place that day, the sun was already setting, and he saw a rather beautiful, three-colored alley cat that crossed his way when he walked to his car. The cat sat itself next to the entrance of the building, curling its tail tidily around itself, and blinked at Devil. The cat looked friendly and Devil thought he'd heard somewhere that three-colored cats were something like lucky charms. So maybe, yeah, maybe he was a lucky guy. He hadn't felt as good as he did right now in a very long time.

Wynn Duffy didn't call Devil or contact him in any other way throughout the next week, and Devil was glad of it. Quarles didn't need him that much, either, just twice to do little errands. Hence Devil found himself with a lot of time on his hands, and he spent most of it with Nina. They went on another movie-date, and made up for the missed Saturday night date where Nina had told Devil to let himself be surprised. It turned out that Nina had wanted to cook for him that night. Her Bolognese sauce was really amazing.

The CAG flat, meanwhile, was still crowded, and when Devil decided to not stay the night with Nina, he laid on the couch and couldn't find any sleep whatsoever. The group of guys that had arrived on Saturday left, only to be replaced by another group that was just as loud, or maybe even more so. Devil proceeded to complain to Nina about it every time they saw each other, which, as the week progressed, turned out to be every single day.

On Saturday then, a week after their canceled date, it was in the afternoon and Devil was complaining to Nina again about how he had gotten like forty minutes of actual sleep because the flat just would not stay silent. They were lying on the couch in her apartment, him stretched out on his back, and her kind of stretched out on top of him. Devil stopped in his explanations when Nina gave him a look that was almost… timid, as if she was afraid she'd done something wrong.

"What is it, babe?"

"Nothin'." Nina shrugged and looked on the ground. "Just…"

"Nothin', just? Spit it out, come on."

"I, uh… well, I used to share this flat here with my… my ex-boyfriend, Nick." She stopped then and Devil motioned for her to continue.

"He… he's…"

Nina sat up and Devil rightened himself with her. He frowned. "He's what?"

"Well, he's kinda been harassin' me a little these last couple days."

"Harassin' you how?"

"Well, he'd just come in at random times, always when you ain't there, like he's watchin' the apartment and lookin' at when you come and go…"

"What do you mean, he'd 'come in' at random times? In where?"

"Well… the flat. He's got a key."

"Why in the hell does he have a key to the flat?"

"Well, we used to live here together, so-"

"Yeah, emphasis on the word 'used', past tense. So why does he STILL have a key?"

"I hadn't gotten around to changin' the locks yet…"

"Well, when did you break up?"

"Uhm…" Nina looked at him then and grimaced. "Last week?"

"Last… wait a second." Devil did the math pretty quickly. "You sayin' you cheated on him with me?"

"No, no, Devil, that ain't what I'm sayin', just, let me explain, okay?"

Devil shrugged, not knowing how to feel about this. "Okay, sure, explain."

"Well, last week, on Wednesday, I had dinner with my mom. And dinners with my mom almost never end well, so I was home about an hour earlier than I told Nick I would be. And then I come home, and I find him…" Nina ground her teeth. "I catch him on the couch with some chick I didn't recognize."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit." She shrugged. "And I really didn't know how to deal with that, so I ran off to the closest bar to get drunk. And there I met you."

"I don't even remember meetin' you" Devil said.

"I know. As I said, you were pretty far gone that night; you were already fucked up when I got there, and then you hit on me a little, and I, well, I thought, what the hell."

Devil nodded slowly. "I get it. You thought, what he can do, I can do, too."

"Well…" Nina looked shamed. "Yeah, that kinda was what I thought. But, then when you were sober, you were so nice, and kinda cute, and then I really actually started likin' you, and-"

"Yeah, I get the picture" Devil said, frowning. He really had no right to be pissed about it, did he? Well, Nina had, in short, used him for sex to get back at her ex-boyfriend. But, hell. He didn't even remember it. And there'd been a time when he'd done exactly the same. Only this time he'd found a girl he actually liked. He didn't feel pissed about it, the right to be or not to be notwithstanding.

"So you broke up with him" he said, "because he cheated on you, and then you met me, and now he's harassin' you because he's thinkin' you already got a new guy."

"Yeah, that's about it" Nina said.

"Why'd you tell me all this? You didn't have to."

"Well, I was jus' thinkin'. You and I, we don't know what this", she motioned between them, "what this is, yet, right? I don't know bout you, but I just got out of a really long, really shitty relationship and I ain't sure if I'm ready to start somethin' new right away. That probably ain't the smartest of ideas. But I'm scared now, when I'm at home, that he's gonna burst in here any second and what he might do if he does, even if I change the locks now, he's still gon' wait up in front of the door. And you, you's always complainin' bout them cramped conditions in your flat an' how you gotta sleep on the couch and stuff, so I thought that maybe you wanna, I dunno, move in here. With me. For the time bein'. Or… somethin'."

Devil blinked at her stupidly. Whatever he'd expected when he'd come here today, this had NOT been on his list. The first thing he thought to ask her was: "D'you got a washin' machine?"

"In the cellar" she answered, clearly confused.

"That's good. Good, good."

"Uh, Devil? Is that a yes?"

"I… I think I'mma do it, yeah. I'mma move in here with you."

This was a good idea, Devil thought, a really good idea. He'd be out of the flat, finally, he'd be around a girl he liked, he'd get laid on a regular basis. And now that he knew there was a jealous, possibly psychotic ex-boyfriend in the picture, he felt safer being here and having an eye on Nina.

"Really? That's amazing!" Nina threw herself into his arms and he embraced her thinking that, right now, he was a seriously lucky man, indeed.

"I'mma go back to the flat n' pack my stuff" he said when she let go of him. "And then when I'm back here, I'mma load off my shit, and then we're gonna go buy some new locks for this place."

"Ain't we gonna need someone to built them in, though?" Nina asked him. "Like a locksmith or somethin'?"

"Girl, you don't know who you talkin' to! A locksmith, come on. If my daddy taught me two things right, it's how to shoot an' how to pick an' repair locks. I'mma be able to change one, too."

"'Kay then. That's a strange combination of skills to teach your son, though."

"My daddy did strange things, what can I say. Now, let me stand up, I gotta get my shit together and move in here with you."

"Yes, you do" Nina smiled and threw herself into his arms again.

* * *

Devil packed his stuff in record time, even considering how little stuff he'd packed in the first place, and explained the situation to Keegan, who of course told him he was kinda crazy to move in with a girl he hardly knew. But, from Devil's perspective, the entire ordeal was only temporary to begin with; the flat had been temporary, now moving in with Nina was temporary, and the next station, whenever he'd get there, would be home, would be Harlan. Keegan, and Nina, and everyone else, just didn't know about that small detail.

They got the locks changed in no time, Devil did actually know his way about locks and guns. The beautiful three-colored alley cat watched on curiously when Devil got out of his car with his duffel bag and a small case with ammunition for his Beretta that he'd bought with the first thousand dollars he'd gotten from Quarles, for the Arthur Herk Job. He hadn't spent any of the money otherwise (except for the 200 bucks he'd had to pay to get his truck back, and the things he'd paid for on his dates with Nina), and now he had quite the impressive amount of money saved, so paying half of the rent for Nina's flat wouldn't be a problem until the money ran out, and as far as Devil was concerned, that day would never come because he'd be back in Harlan by then.

Devil kept his eyes open when he got out of the building again to throw the dismounted old locks away. He didn't see anyone suspicious-looking that could have been the lurking, possibly psychotic ex-boyfriend Nick. Still, Devil told himself, he'd be on the lookout from now on. It was 6 pm when he began ascending the stairs back up to Nina's floor, and his cell phone vibrated, telling him he'd just received a message.

It was from a suppressed number.

'340 Leonardwood Drive, Petco Animal Supplies. 30 minutes. W.D.'

Devil halted in the middle of the steps. What the hell was that supposed to mean? The initials W.D. could only stand for Wynn Duffy. So now he was supposed to meet Wynn Duffy in a pet store on Leonardwood Drive in thirty minutes? In a pet store? Why in the hell does it have to be a pet store, Devil wondered, and why in the hell does it have to be now?

But he sighed, remembering the conversation he'd had with Duffy. The bruises of Hellboy's attack were fading, but not entirely gone yet. Everytime he'd looked in the mirror this week he'd been reminded of that shitty evening and what it entailed. Duffy wanted him to kill a woman, and if he didn't do it, him and Duffy would most likely be dead, but he, Devil, would definitely be dead. One life for the price of two, it was.

Devil went up to Nina's flat and told her he had to go somewhere; when she asked where and why, he said he couldn't tell her. He wondered how she would deal with it, when he would leave at random times during the day to go places and meet people and do possibly dangerous and illegal things, and she would have no idea where he'd be and what he'd do and what it was all about. But he couldn't tell her, for both their safety's compromise. He told her as much, and he could tell she didn't like it, but she didn't say anything, just let him leave. Devil shook his head when he slammed the door of his truck closed. He couldn't think on it, not now. He had to keep his head in the game. There was only one thing Duffy could want to talk to him about now, and that was the demise of Stacey Granger. Why that had to happen in a pet store, though, Devil really had no idea.

He was there fifteen minutes early and looked around. The pet store Duffy had ordered him to was part of the big Wal-Mart Supercenter, and now, on an early Saturday evening, the gigantic parking lot was almost completely full. Devil got lucky when he found a space. Walking the distance to the pet store, he didn't see Duffy's motor coach anywhere; maybe he'd taken a cab or something.

Entering, a young woman, an employee of the shop judging from the burgundy polo she was wearing that jarred with her hair which she'd dyed a horrendous shade of pink, tapped him on the arm and asked him whether he was Mr. Tornado. Devil didn't get it at first and stared blankly at the chick with the pink hair, who gave him a blank stare back. Then he understood. The "tornado in a trailer park" analogy had appealed to Duffy a great deal. Devil rolled his eyes. Mr. Tornado, Jesus.

"Yep, that's me" he said. The chick, her nametag identified her as Nina, which Devil almost chuckled at (what a coincidence, he thought), led him through the store all the way to the back, where she opened a door that led to some kind of storage room, and in that storage room, as luck would have it (or not), was Wynn Duffy, seated on an office chair, hands folded in his lap, looking happy as a preacher on Sundays.

Petshop-Nina closed the door behind them and Devil raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Tornado? That's the best you could do?"

"Well, Mr. Devil, you gave me little to work with last time we talked. And a good day to you, too. Please take a seat."

There was another office chair, which Devil sat down on, and then twirled around a little. "Where's your bodyguard?"

"Mike is waiting outside in my rental car. He's gonna take me home when this talk is over."

"Oh yeah, which leads me to another question: Uh, why in the hell are we meetin' in a pet store?"

"Cover, Mr. Devil. It's all about the right cover. Now, you can't always come to my motor coach, people will see you and ask me what we are talking about, and I can hardly tell them the truth. I told Quarles that when we had our talk a week ago, we couldn't reach an agreement and would not, for the time being, work with each other, which means that when we meet now, it has to be somewhere no-one is gonna see us."

"And what about the chick?" Devil waved at the door. "The one with the pink hair? She obviously knows somethin' now."

Duffy sighed, annoyed. "The girl knows shit about what's going on. I give her a hundred bucks, she asks you whether you are Mr. Tornado and leads you here, and that is all she knows. She's not the risk."

"Okay, got it. This is a cover. Then, let's talk business."

"Oh, we will." Duffy smiled. "I guess you know why I need to talk to you now."

"I can only imagine." Devil shrugged.

"It's about Ms. Granger."

"I saw that comin'."

"Did you? Good, means you got your head in the game. Now, I am gonna tell you what you have to do." Duffy brought out a bag from behind his chair and pulled a laptop out of it that he turned on and opened Google Maps. Typing away for a minute, he turned it around for Devil to see the display.

"This" Duffy said, tapping on a spot on the display, "is what Google Maps knows as Grasshoppers Landscapes Nursery, Leestown Road, on the outer skirts of Frankfort, right between Kentucky Correctional Industries, Glenn Toyota, the Grace Missionary Baptist Church and the Good Shepherd Catholic Church. Do you want to know what it really is?"

"Uhuh?"

"It's the biggest whore house in the northern half of Kentucky. And its owner and manager is one little stealing, lying cunt named Stacey Granger."

"That sounds kinda familiar…"

"I've printed the address out for you, here it is." Duffy handed Devil a sheet of paper. "Now about what you will do."

Devil nodded, gravely. No backing out from this.

"You will go there, some day in the next week, I will text you when I find out the best time for it, and you will say you want to have a whore, and I'm guessing that's not exactly unexplored territory for you considering you're from Harlan County. You'll say that you want a good one, one of the expensive, beautiful ones who'll do the freaky stuff. If you say that, they'll lead you to the office of Ms. Granger, where you will kill her. How you do it, whether you shoot her or stab her or suffocate her with a pillow, I could not care less, long as she's dead when you leave."

Devil gnawed on his lower lip, his leg twitching up and down, and didn't respond.

"Now, you will have to go there early in the morning, probably about 6 am, that's when it's emptiest, but I still don't exactly know whether shooting her would be a good idea, since it makes noise and noise attracts attention that you can't afford. But…"

"Are you tryin' to walk me into prison, Mr. Duffy?"

Duffy stopped and looked at Devil. "Why would I?"

"Well, I dunno, but this just sounds like you want me to get caught. I'm supposed to go there, to her whore house, talk to the staff there, with my face clear on display to all the security cameras they probably got in, like, every corner of the fuckin' buildin'? Sounds to me like you want me to get caught."

"Well, no, I don't exactly WANT that to happen…"

"But you wouldn't cry a tear if it happened anyway. Yeah, well, Mr. Duffy, jus' you remember that I know some shit about you that I'd be willin' to tell anybody who listens if I get arrested. And I reckon where the polies gon' take me there are quite a few people who'll listen to everythin' I got to say. So, I'm askin' you" Devil said pointedly, "as nicely as I can right now, to think of a better plan. Thank you kindly."

"Well." Wynn Duffy frowned. Had he really thought Devil to be that stupid? To fall for such a shitty plan?

"Okay then, Mr. Devil, I believe you got me there. I'll think on it again. But do take the address with you and go there some time, look around, meet Ms. Granger. Please" he said in a tone that suggested that this was anything BUT a plea.

Devil folded the sheet of paper and stuffed it into his pants pocket. "We'll see."

"We'll see, we'll see. You sure like to say that, Mr. Devil, mh?" Duffy drummed his fingers on the arm rest of his chair. "Alright then, I guess we will have to postpone this meeting for a few days. But, we'll meet here from now on, so one favor you have to do me, Mr. Devil?"

"What?"

"Get a pet."

"Huh?"

"A pet. You know, a cat or a fish or something. Cover, you know what I mean, so people won't get suspicious about you frequenting a pet store all of the sudden."

Devil thought of the alley cat that always looked at him so curiously. "Alright, I guess. I'll pick up some cat food on the way out."

* * *

Yes, Devil gets himself a cat. As cover. But also because he likes cats. Who doesn't?

What do you think of Nina so far? Give me your honest opinions. Suck? Not suck? Shoot.

And to all men: I saw "The Other Boleyn Girl". No tits, as far as I recall. But Benedict Cumberbatch and Jim Sturgess! Yay.


	9. Chapter 9

And here's the next chapter. I should mention that the new OC that is introduced here, Stacey Granger, is based on the actress Eva Green. I can picture her as a stone-cold bitch. Can you?

Also, I totally did it and hid a Shaun of the Dead quote in this chap. Well, it's not exactly hidden. If you've seen Shaun twice, you'll instantly recognize it. "We're coming to get you, Barbara!" No, that's not it.

WARNING: Talk of prostitution and sex, and a not-quite hand job.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 9

* * *

"He wants me to kill a woman."

"What kinda woman?"

"A… a pimp that owes him money… does it really matter what kinda woman it is, Boyd? I don't wanna do it. I hate it. I hate him. Damn it."

"I get it, Devil. That's a… difficult situation right now, for you. But…"

"Yeah, I know. I KNOW. I gotta do it, or my fuckin' cover is blown. Can't I just, like, come back home?"

"Devil, I would have been partial to agree, but my guess is it won't change Mr. Duffy's dealings with you. He could still tell on you, and then it would be a shitload of shit rainin' down on Harlan, an' we cannot use that, with the amount of shit that's already rainin' down on us right now."

"What kinda shit?"

"Well, apparently some people have got the idea into their heads that Raylan Givens is in my pocket, and you can imagine how pleased Raylan was when he heard about that. But we both know how ridiculous that idea is, so it really ain't none of your concern right now. What you need to do right now-"

"Boyd, I can't. I jus'… I already killed these guys for Quarles, man. They were Norwegians and they were guys, but still. It's enough. I… shit."

"Devil, I am terribly sorry, but I don't see any way around it. She a good person? Innocent?"

"Nah. She's a thief, and, well, she's part of the Dixie Mafia, so I bet she's got her fair share of skeletons in the closet."

"So the world ain't gonna cry no tears over her demise."

"I get where you're goin' with this. I wouldn't mind it so much, that I gotta do it for that Duffy asshole's what's buggin' me about it."

"Alright, Devil, do it for me, then. Or for you. You getting' paid for it?"

"Yeah, if everythin' goes right, I'mma get a lot of money out of it."

"Then focus on that, Devil. We were both aware of how we're playin' with fire when I sent you there. Your main concern now is: Do anythin' you can to obviate blowin' your cover. Do not start a feud with Wynn Duffy now over some petty murder that you can take care of, that'll only exacerbate things."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean stirrin' up trouble where you already got some can only get you-"

"No, I meant, what's 'exacerbate' mean?"

"Oh. I'm sorry. It means 'to make things worse'. Do not make things worse, Devil."

"Mh. I'll try. It can't get much worse, I guess, to look at the bright side of it."

* * *

Devil didn't exactly know what outcome he'd hoped for with the talk to Boyd. Maybe that Boyd would tell him he didn't have to kill the girl, and that he could come home now. Yeah, that was probably it. Boyd telling him not to do it would have been enough, though. Devil still had this way of thinking that, however fucked up things would get, Boyd still knew a way out of it. Boyd would know how to fix it. Boyd always had a plan B, some trick up his sleeve, some words in his mouth that could get him what he wanted.

But this time Boyd wouldn't be able to fix it. Once again Devil realized how alone he still was here. He'd made friends alright, had met Keegan, had met Funny, had met Nina. He had people to talk to, and he knew these people, and these people thought they knew him, but when it came down to it, they knew shit. The only one who had any idea about what Devil really was doing here was Funny, the one who'd known, just known somehow, that Devil wasn't a traitor. He hadn't ever said anything else on the topic, and Devil hadn't seen him since the Norwegian Business Men Job.

So, even though Devil had actually done what Boyd had wanted him to do and made friends, he was STILL alone. What a fucked up world this is, Devil thought to himself. I find friends, people I actually like here, and they still are not really my friends, because I lie to them all day. Keegan was convinced Devil had switched sides and worked for Quarles. Nina didn't know anything about what he did on a daily basis, where he went. She didn't even know they would have never met, had he not killed two people that day and decided he needed to get shitfaced. Quite the romantic meeting story, that was.

So, Boyd didn't know how to fix it, and that meant Devil had to do the Job. He had to kill Stacey Granger. He just had to, there was no way around it, or if there was, he didn't see it. And if even Boyd didn't see it, it most likely wasn't there at all.

Devil had no choice, and he thought if he actually had to kill her, it would be in his best interest to have met her before so he at least knew what she looked like and he didn't by accident kill the wrong pilfering pimp. Now that would exacerbate things to an unthinkable degree.

So Devil took his time at the beginning of the week and drove out to Leestown Pike to have a look at the whore house. Quarles hadn't called him in almost a week, but Devil still took his cell phone everywhere and kept it on silent alarm. He wondered what other shit might be going on in Harlan right now and how much of it was on Quarles's account.

The alleged whore house did really look like a landscaping company from the outside. There was a homey-looking red-brick house on the front of the property that seemed to be housing a gastronomy department and a front desk where you had to announce your coming in and say what you were here for. Devil wondered what they did with people who actually needed landscaping; whether they told them they weren't available at the moment or if they were actually straight-forward enough about it that they said the truth, that this was no landscaping company…

That idea fell through when Devil saw a tractor pass him, followed by a pick-up whose bed was filled with green waste. The tractor and truck passed the front red-brick house and disappeared around a corner on the big property. Well, Devil thought, that would certainly explain how they could survive underground so long – they did do landscaping here. The cover-up wasn't solely a cover-up. That was what made it so effective.

Devil shook his head and entered the red-brick house. The chick at the front desk looked at him with a huge smile on her face. Devil wondered how she managed to keep that smile up all day. "Good day, Sir" she said and smiled at him. It looked more real than Quarles's smile, he'd give her that.

"Hey" Devil said and leaned on the raised left side of the reception with one elbow. "I, uh, heard there's not only landscapin' sold here, and I'd like to try that out."

The reception desk chick checked him out, noticing his tattoos and clothes, and deemed him a trustworthy whore house client, because she nodded and her smile changed a bit, became a bit less creepy, but a bit less bright, too.

"Yes, Sir. Are you here for the first time?"

"Yep."

"Well, Sir, you'll have to go around the house then, to entrance B. The entrances are signposted everywhere outside, Sir, you can't miss it."

Devil gave her a mock salute and pushed himself away from the desk. "Got it, thanks a lot."

The signs everywhere did lead him to 'Entrance B' very quickly. The building it belonged to looked like a gigantic factory floor. The entrance wasn't even a real door, it was a garage door, and it was closed. He rang the doorbell. And waited.

Two minutes later a young woman, pretty like the front desk chick, and clothed in a tight white blouse and an even tighter black pencil skirt (Devil wondered how she could even walk in that thing), opened the door for him and smiled, the same bright robotic grin.

"Hello, Sir. You here for the girls?"

"Oh no, I wanna plant some rose bushes in my front yard. The hell do you think I'm here for?"

The woman (girl, really) had to chuckle at that, and it instantly made her more pretty than the robotic smile, because the chuckle was real, for once.

"Well, in that case" she said, her smile a tad more relaxed now, "follow me please, Sir."

"Sure."

The girl walked ahead of him, giving him a premium view on her ass, and led him through the building that was actually on the inside a normal house, with more than one floor. The walls were painted in dark tones, mostly red, as Devil was used to with whore houses, and there were a lot of doors and a lot of long hallways. The floor was covered in a quite fluffy red carpet. They reached a kind of bar, where the girl motioned for him to sit down and have a drink. Devil took the offered seat, but dismissed the drink.

"I gotta drive" he said. "Ain't thirtsy, while we're at it."

"Okay, Sir" the girl said. "Well, my name is Anna and I would like to ask you what you want."

Devil frowned. "Uh… the rose bushes were a joke, you know."

"I know, Sir, but I wanted to know what kind of girls you want."

"Well…" Devil remembered what Duffy had told him. If he wanted the ones that did freaky stuff, they'd send him to talk to Stacey Granger in person, and that was what he was here for. If he had to pay in advance, he would even think about doing the girl he'd paid for. If not, he'd leave after having met her.

"I, uh, I like the freaky shit. And I want one of the really pretty ones. I got enough cash to pay for it."

The girl, Anna, if that was really her name, nodded and said, "Alright, Sir. If you would excuse me, I'll have to make a call real quick."

"Sure. I'll just wait here."

Devil looked around while Anna went off to call someone. The bar was held in deep purple colors, and there was a stripper pole in the middle of the room. Nothing he hadn't seen before. There was no-one here, though, not a soul. He gazed into the corners of the ceiling, and sure enough, there were two security cameras in this room alone.

The girl came back then and smiled at him. "For the wishes that you expressed the manager would like to speak to you and help you choose. Follow me, please."

"Lead the way."

Anna led him through another cornucopia of hallways and doors, and Devil wondered whether he would find his way out of here by himself. Finally they stopped in front of a door, just another door, that had a tag on it which just said "Management" and nothing else. He hoped it was actually Stacey Granger behind that door, because otherwise he'd have made the whole trip for nothing.

Anna knocked, and the door opened to reveal a petite, skinny woman that was really pale and really beautiful. She smiled at Devil, a charming, pleasantly real smile, and said, "Hello there, Mister. You can come in. Anna, you wait here."

Devil listened and stepped in. The office looked like any other office would look: Gray carpet, white walls, wooden desk, a gray couch and gray visitor's chairs. It looked a lot like Quarles's office, but that wasn't a peculiar thing. With offices, Devil thought, it most likely was like it was with deserts. Whether it was the desert in Nevada, or the one in Afghanistan, sand was sand. There were no personal pictures here, everything looked kind of blank. This looked more like a doctor's office than a pimp's.

The beautiful woman took a seat behind her desk and smiled. "Take a seat, please."

Devil slumped down on a chair. It was sterile. Now he'd found the right word. The rest of the building looked like a proper whore house, but this room, it looked sterile. He wondered what that said about her personality.

"I'm Stacey Granger, nice too meet you."

Devil knew she probably wanted a name from him now. He shrugged internally. If he had to kill her either way, it couldn't do any harm to tell her his real name.

"Derek Lennox."

"Nice too meet you, Mr. Lennox. Now, my employee let me know that you're interested in one of my more expensive girls. I would like to know what type you prefer."

Devil drew a blank here. The only clear preference he knew he had was, no red heads. Other than that, he really wasn't picky about a girl's looks.

"Uhm" he said and automatically thought of Nina. "Brunette. Brown eyes. Yeah, I like that."

Granger smiled at him. Her hair was a dark brown and styled in a way that looked like she'd just gotten out of bed but that most likely took hours to make it look that way. Her eyes were a vibrant dark blue. "Certainly, Mr. Lennox. How much are you willing to pay?"

"How much would it be?"

"Well, that depends on what services you expect the ladies to offer you. You told my employee you like the 'freaky stuff', which I'd say you'll have to specify, but if I had to take a wild guess…"

Devil blended her talk out and focused on her face. A beautiful face, it was. Her eyes were huge, the lips full, the skin pale and flawless. But beneath all that friendly, charming exterior, Devil thought he saw a slight hint of malice, of mischief, of something not so charming and nice. He had an idea about why the woman didn't pay Duffy the sum she owed him even though she clearly had the money. Furthermore Devil decided she didn't do anything for him. Sure, she had a beautiful face and nice tits, but really, she had an attitude like her office: Cold and sterile. Her whole behavior looked practiced, like an act. It was a good one, too, but too routine to be anything but mostly fake.

"… wouldn't be the problem, since you said you got the money. Now… Mr. Lennox? Mr. Lennox, are you listening to me?"

"What? Yeah, sure. You said somethin' bout bondage, I don't want that shit, it's creepy. Don't want anyone to watch, either, like, come on. I look like a creep to you?"

"Well" Granger said and grinned, leaning forward on her desk a little, pushing her breasts up and almost out of her blouse. "You were staring at my boobs right now, so I'd say you're a little creepy at least."

Devil knew he hadn't stared at her breasts. But that she assumed he had made sense. That woman was a megalomaniac, like Quarles. Apparently the two had more in common than office interior tastes.

"Was I? Sorry" he said, ever the understudy.

"Oh, it's no big deal. You're here to satisfy your primal needs." Granger stood up then and said she'd have Anna show him to one of the girls that would most likely conform with his wishes, and that he had to give Anna the stated price for one hour in advance. Devil just nodded. He kinda wanted to leave, now. And never come back. His duty for today was done: Assessment of Stacey Granger. And Devil's assessment was that she was a cold-hearted bitch that was totally in love with herself. Devil was sure he could do worse than killing her, and it made him feel at least slightly better about himself.

Anna led him to another door and told him what one hour would be. It was a shitload of money, but Devil did have to retain his cover, so he paid, hating to see all that hardly earned money go for something he could get with Nina for free, and entered the room. The girl that sat on the bed there actually was brunette, with brown eyes, and she was nice to look at, too. Had a little Cindy Crawford look about her, with beauty patch and everything, only of course she was younger and hotter.

She grinned at him from the bed with the dark red velvet sheets. "So, you like the freaky stuff, huh?"

"Ah, well" Devil said and dropped his vest. He'd already paid, after all, so why not get a little fun out of it. "Sometimes it's the most simple things that do me in."

"You can show me what simple things you mean, boy" the whore said, giving him a practiced seductive wink. "My name's Mandy and I'll do everythin' you want."

"Sounds about right" Devil said and smirked at her, taking off his shirt. He walked the few paces to the bed, and she stood up and met him halfway.

"I like your tattoos" Mandy said, putting a hand on his chest lightly. "Tattoos turn me on, really do."

"Guess you're in luck, then" Devil said and grabbed her hips, pulling her to him. She was only clad in lacey black underwear and he could feel her nipples getting hard and press against his naked chest as he kissed her. He couldn't exactly tell if the moan she gave was real or if she was just pretending to be aroused for her client's benefit. But, oh well, he was a grown man and had been to a few whores in his wake, and if he wasn't sure whether they were acting with him, it just meant they knew what they were doing.

Mandy turned him and pushed him until he fell onto the bed, then she proceeded to crawl into his lap, her hand on his belt buckle.

"You know" she said, a dirty grin on her face, "you're just my type, you know, I would've even let you get another half hour for free."

"That's movin', now get on with it."

Just as Mandy was pushing her hand into his boxers and Devil was really starting to feel the whole thing, his cell phone vibrated against his leg.

"Ugh" Devil said, pushed Mandy back lightly. "I'm buzzin', hold on."

"Oh, me, too, baby, me, too" Mandy panted, giving him a playful tug, and Devil jolted.

"No, I'm serious, girl, my cell phone's buzzin'" he said, pulling her fingers out of his trousers with one hand while fishing his phone out of his pocket with the other. It wasn't Quarles, though, it was Nina.

"Shit" Devil said and let his head sag back onto the sheets.

"What is it?" Mandy asked, sounding a little put off.

"I gotta take this. Hello?"

"Devil?"

"Yeah, it's me, what is it?"

Nina started talking then, fast, sounding like she was in panic. Mandy, still in his lap, leaned forward to kiss him on his neck, and he pushed her away. She complied with a frown on her face.

"Devil, you gotta come home, like now, because I was walkin' home from work today, I got off early because the delivery that was supposed to come today fell through and I had done everything else yesterday already because I'd thought I would be spendin' all day with the delivery today, so I had nothin' to do and got sent home early and I's all excited and shit, but your truck wasn't here and then I looked around and there was NICK, and he saw I was starin' at him, and then he got out of his car and I started RUNNIN', and I could hear him behind me on the stairs and I just made it into the flat, but I think he's still out-"

"He WHAT?!"

Devil sat up so abruptly Mandy fell onto the floor in a heap, landing hard on her naked ass. She gave him an angry look of exasperation, but Devil barely even noticed it. "He followed you inside?!" Devil yelled into the phone. "Through the stairwell? He's in the stairwell waitin' for you to open the door, that it?"

"I… yeah, I think so." Nina sounded like she was crying now. "I'm scared shitless, Devil, please, you gotta come."

"Babe, I'll be right there, alright? Stay put, do not open the door, under no fuckin' circumstances, d'you hear me. Shit, for God's sake. I'm like gone for half an hour and then this shit happens."

Devil stood up and zipped his pants closed, struggling a little doing up his belt one-handed. He walked around Mandy who was still sitting on the floor to get his shirt and vest.

"'Kay, Devil. Just… get here, please."

"I will. See you in a few."

He hung up and kicked the wall in frustration. "Shit! Fuckin' bastard!"

"What is it?" Mandy finally stood up. She still looked put off, but, to be fair, Devil hadn't exactly treated her like a lady just now, and now she even appeared concerned for him.

"Nothin', I, uh, I just gotta go. Sorry I dropped you on your ass like that."

"But you already paid…"

Devil shrugged into his vest. "Yeah, well. Look at it like an early Christmas present."

"It's September."

"I said, early."

* * *

Devil made the ten minute drive from the whore house to Nina's in half the time and immediately looked around, but save for the three-colored alley cat sitting next to the entrance of the apartment building, there was no-one on the street. A car passed by and Devil turned to look, but it was a woman in the driver's seat. He realized he didn't even know what car he was looking for, what brand and color that Nick asshole was driving, so he just ran upstairs, hoping everything was alright.

The stairwell was empty. When Devil reached Nina's door, he saw smudges on the white paint that might have come from hands banging against the door. He was pretty sure they hadn't been there when he'd left. He knocked on the door lightly, trying not to startle her. He had a set of keys, but he felt like he should give her a warning, she'd sounded so terrified over the phone.

"Nina?" he yelled. "Nina, it's Devil, I'm here now, I'm comin' in, alright?"

He didn't get an answer and grasped for his keys, but then he heard the chain being removed and the lock being turned, and the door opened a crack, enough that he could see half of Nina's face and that she'd been crying.

"Devil" she croaked, sounding pathetic.

"Hey" he said. "Told you I'd be here in a few."

In response she opened the door wider and threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Drama Queen, Devil thought, but he didn't say it out loud. It had to have been quite the shock for Nina, and if that guy had actually followed her to her door and banged on it trying to get in, Devil was gonna find the guy and rip him to pieces. Thank God, he thought, thank GOD we changed the locks. He didn't want to think about what could have happened, had he not insisted on it. Devil could feel Nina's wet, huffing breath against his chest and shuddered, still feeling the whore Mandy's hand on his cock, and he decided he wanted a shower and then some information on what that Nick asshole looked like and what car he drove, and where he lived now, should it become necessary for Devil to take measures into his own hands.

They heard a scraping at the door then and Nina yelped in shock, stiffening in his arms. Devil looked through the spy but couldn't see anybody, and when he ripped the door open, there was no-one there but the alley cat, blinking at him with big, curious eyes. Devil's shoulders sagged in relief.

"It's the cat" he said over his shoulder. "Wants to get food, I guess."

He'd heeded Duffy's advice of getting a sort-of pet by buying some cat food in the pet store and then bribing the alley cat with it until it got curious enough to come close to him, and then it ate the food and let Devil stroke its petite, three-colored head for a minute, even leaning into the touch. Devil had done that in the mornings and the evenings since his talk with Duffy in the pet store, and then yesterday when Devil had gotten here from a visit at the CAG flat and opened the door to the building to go upstairs the cat just weaseled its way in and followed him upstairs like that was the most normal thing to do.

"Oh" Nina said and wiped some tears away, looking a bit sheepish now. "Yeah. She's a cute one. Let me pet her this morning when I left for work."

"How d'you know it's a she?"

"Oh, come on, Devil, look at how small she is. No male cat is that tiny. Also I checked, and she ain't got no balls."

Devil crouched down and tapped the cat on its moist, light brown nose. "So you a chick, huh?" The cat blinked at him stoically, tail tidily wrapped around it and sitting there like a straight-A student. "A stone-cold bitch?"

The cat just continued to look at him, and if cats could have facial expressions, this one's would have been the perfect example for disdain at his comment. Devil had to grin.

"Yeah it's a she alright. Looks at me jus' like my momma did when I was a kid."

"I called her Felicity" Nina said and crouched down next to Devil, reaching a hand out to pet the cat, who stood up and stretched its tail into the air at the attention.

"Hell nah. Felicity ain't no name for a cat."

"Is, too. Felicity is derived from felicitas, which is Latin and means 'luck', and it fits because she's three-colored and three-colored cats are supposed to be lucky charms, and we can definitely use some luck in our lives, don't you think?"

Now more than ever, Devil thought, but he just made a non-committal humming noise and looked at the cat, who seemed to grin at him. It might have been a she, but the way she looked at him now, with that grin that held disdain in it, but also a really deep-set stoicism and a flair of "It's gonna be okay; I KNOW it is", she didn't look like his mother any more – she looked a lot like Boyd, and that, despite Boyd's lack of being able to help him with his shitty current situation, helped calm him down a good bit.

"Yeah, I could use a little luck" he murmured. "You gon' help me with that?"

The cat, Felicity, blinked at him, turned and left.

* * *

I somehow have the feeling I'll find lots of typos if I read it when it's posted. But I don't want to wait any longer. Any mistakes you DO find, don't tell me, I'mma find them and be angry at myself without your help.

And Felicity, the cat? Is based on one of mine. Her name's Felicia and she's a total diva, and somehow she thinks that everything, even the place we live in, belongs to HER and me and my family, we're only guests. But that's just how cats are. Gotta love 'em for it!


	10. Chapter 10

Now, this is the longest chapter of this story so far, and there's a lot of shit happening in it (look at the Warnings), and I won't lie, it was kind of a struggle writing it at times. I did have a lot of fun with Google Maps once again, though.

I gotta say something else before you get to reading: I've been able to narrow the number of chapters down to 16, maybe 17 chapters. I'm currently putting the finishing touches on chapter 14, and that means I'll be finished soon, sooner rather than later. BUT next week I'll be starting an internship and won't have time for shit, so even if I manage finishing this story this week (and I'm in the middle of renovating, so that's not that likely), I don't know when I can take the time to get started on Part 2, because, yeah, there's gonna be a Part 2; I didn't name it Part 1 for nothing (unlike the producers of "Loaded Weapon 1"). So, sorry, but you'll have to have a bit of patience. Real life is demanding my attention.

WARNING: Dropping of the c-bomb, using of the n-word, explicit descriptions of Character Death (OFC), murder and conspiracy to murder.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 10

* * *

After he'd made sure Nina had completely calmed down, Devil told her to show him photos of Nick, and asked her for information on what car the dick was driving. With the car Nina wasn't very helpful ("It's, uh, big. And blue. Kinda shiny."), but she showed him pictures of Nick, and he turned out to be a tall guy, about an inch taller than Devil himself, but the way his dark-brown hair was done in a kind of Justin-Bieber-mob style, Devil couldn't take him seriously. Nick was pretty, in a way Devil had never been, but that also meant he looked like Devil could push him over with only his pinky finger. On one of the pictures Nina showed him, Nick was wearing a pink polo. PINK. Come on, Devil thought, what kinda douchbags has she been going out with?

Also, Nick was three years older than Nina, but that still left him almost ten years Devil's junior, and Devil knew if he ever met the guy, there was no doubt about who'd get out on top. As long as Nina stayed safe behind locked doors when she was alone, everything was going to be okay. Devil made a trip to the closest hardware store and bought a heavy, iron-made locking bolt for the door that was a thousand times safer than the thin, friable safety chain, and Nina handed him tools and screws from the toolbox he kept in the trunk of his truck when he assembled it to the door. Afterwards they both felt a lot safer and laid down on the couch to watch some senseless TV.

That same day at around 6 o'clock, Duffy sent him a text that said to meet him in the pet store again, ASAP. Devil sighed, but knew there was no way around it, so he told Nina to lock the door behind him, and to not forget the bolt, and to not open the door if she couldn't see who was standing there through the spy. Nina just nodded and said "yes" and "sure" and "okay" and "I won't", and Devil had the distinct feeling she thought he was being overcautious with this. He just let her believe that for now. Had he taken a picture of when Nina had opened the door to him a few hours before, he was sure she wouldn't be like that.

Arriving at the pet store quickly, pink-haired petshop-Nina just nodded her head in the direction of the storage room him and Duffy had met in the last time, and he tipped an invisible hat at her and made his way over to the door in the back of the store.

"Mr. Devil, glad you could make it" Wynn Duffy said and didn't even wait for Devil to have a seat before he continued talking.

"It's good that I reach you today, because there's some things you need to do, like go to the whore house and meet Ms. Granger-"

"I already did that" Devil interrupted him, slumping down on the office chair that stood there just for him. "Today."

"Really? When?"

"Round noon."

"Did you say what I told you to?"

"Yep. Worked out just like you said it would. I met the chick, stone-cold bitch, by the way, that's the impression I got, and then I met that nice whore, whatsername, Mary, or somethin', no, Mandy, sorry, had to pay in advance, so I thought, what the hell, I can try her out."

"Did you do her?"

"Nah. My gir-" Devil broke off. He'd almost called Nina his girlfriend. He couldn't really do that, not now, not so soon, not after they'd both agreed this, whatever this was with them, was not a relationship. "Uh, a friend… I got a call, had to go."

"That so." Duffy turned his office chair from side to side a little. "Shame. Well, glad you got to meet Ms. Granger, and yes, in fact, your impression that she's a stone-cold bitch is quite correct. You still have inhibitions about killing her?"

Devil frowned and voted for complete honesty, since he himself didn't know how to feel about it. He had to make his mind up first, no use in lying to Duffy about something he didn't know the true answer to. "Not sure. I jus' wanna get it done and over with."

"Well, that's an attitude I can deal with, Mr. Devil! Let's get down to business then."

And Duffy produced his small laptop out of thin air again and called up Google Maps.

"You were there, you know how many security cameras there were in the building."

"Probably more cameras than whores, and in a cathouse that big, that's sayin' somethin'."

"Most certainly is. Now, Ms. Granger owns a house" and Duffy started typing in a destination and then zoomed in on it and showed it to Devil, "in Georgetown, on Taylorsville Trail, to be exact, a big house with a pool and most likely, I can only guess since I've never been there myself, with a security camera in every room, including bath and bedroom."

"Nice."

"That's the one" Duffy said, moving the curser on the house that belonged to Granger. "That's where the cunt lives. It's hard to miss, since it's directly next to the Yuko-En on the Elkhorn park."

"What park?"

"Don't matter. Now, the drive from the whore house to Taylorsville Trail takes about thirty minutes, and Ms. Granger, as I've found out by having her shadowed for the past week, has the incredibly dangerous character trait of being a creature of habit. If possible, she always takes the same route home, always in the same range of time, so we can rudimentarily estimate when she'll show up in what place. I guess you can see the danger in that."

Devil nodded gravely. He knew, just as everybody in this business, that having such habits was pretty fucking stupid if you didn't want to get killed. It was like leaving bread crumbs on the floor for your enemies, and all they had to do was follow the trail. There weren't even birds to pick them up. But apparently, Granger didn't know that.

Or, Devil knew, what was more likely was that she knew about that danger and thought it didn't concern her. That's what she had in common with Quarles. She thought she was invincible, like that Irish kid from Misfits. If someone stabbed her through the stomach with a metal pipe, she would just stand up again, dust herself off and go about business as usual. Devil told Duffy as much.

"She ain't stupid, she knows it's dangerous. She just thinks nothin's ever gonna happen to her" he said. "The bitch thinks she's untouchable."

"She does, indeed. But she's not and she will find that out soon enough. Tomorrow night, to be exact."

"What? Tomorrow night?" A flash of anxiety went through Devil's body. "Why… why so soon?"

"Because, tomorrow night is the absolute perfect time to do it. Trust me, Mr. Devil, I've got it all figured out."

"Do you." Devil didn't sound convinced, because he wasn't. "Well, let's hear it then, and if this is just another shitty plan that might land me in jail, do remember where it could land you and your skinny, suited ass."

"Alright, alright, just listen, would you?" Wynn Duffy lifted a placating hand. "As I said, Ms. Granger always takes the same route home, always at roughly the same time. As it seems she's a workaholic, because when she leaves it's always almost nighttime already, so it's gonna be dark. The route she takes" and Duffy used the laptop again to show Devil the route he meant, "is this one, down Leestown Pike and then a left turn onto Woodlake Road, and what comes after that is none of your concern because Woodlake Road is where you'll be waiting for her. Do you wanna know why?"

"I know why" Devil said, studying the satellite-issued picture of Woodlake Road and its surroundings. "It's all fields there."

"Exactly. Nothing but fields and shit, and a bit of wood here and there, and nothing but that for miles. And Stacey Granger will most definitely drive through this road at some point tomorrow night, and you will be there, heading her off with a road block, some kind of trap, I don't exactly care how you do it, just, don't let her pass. And then you kill her. In that area, you could even use a gun. No witnesses there that could hear the shot."

"But why tomorrow night? You said, she uses this way home every day, not just tomorrow night. Why's it gotta be tomorrow night?"

"I'll come to that yet, Mr. Devil, just you wait."

* * *

Wynn Duffy did explain it all to Devil, and Devil had to admit it was a pretty fucking solid plan. Obviously, that guy knew his way about murder. Now, usually knowing that about a person didn't necessarily serve to calm Devil down, but in this situation, it did. Because if Devil didn't follow Duffy's plan to the t, it could land him in jail for the rest of his life. Of course, it would land Duffy there, as well, but if it actually came to that, it wouldn't do Devil any good. Duffy had one thing right: They were in this together. From the very moment Devil had entered Duffy's motor coach for the first time one and a half weeks ago, they'd been in this big pile of shit together, and if one said anything, they would drag the other down, as well. Devil hated Duffy for it. Like Devil hadn't already shouldered enough of a burden by coming here and playing the traitor that he wasn't ever going to be, now Duffy had to throw this at him, as well.

Devil knew that he would never forget that. If he actually went through with this, it would follow him for a long time, maybe for the rest of his life. He'd been able to justify the Norwegians by telling himself that Funny would have died, had he not killed them like he did. But this? This was just to satisfy Duffy's greed, wipe off a debt that Devil had no hand in, saving his ass from getting slaughtered by Quarles in the process.

Nevertheless, Duffy's plan was foolproof, if all went well. Devil got back to Nina's and didn't talk about where he went, and she knew better than to ask. They ate pizza and went to bed eventually, and Devil sensed Nina fall asleep next to him. His eyes stayed open, though, and his mind aware, for a long time, his thoughts not able to sway from what he was going to do the next day. He fell asleep in the early morning hours.

Devil dreamt that he was standing in a hall, and there were a lot of people around him, strangers, but Devil belonged. He belonged there, amidst all these strangers, because he knew they were all here, together in this hall, for the same purpose, although he couldn't say what purpose it was. Someone came and said they had fifteen minutes until it would start, whatever it was. Suddenly Devil remembered that he didn't have his gun. He started to panic. He needed his gun! So he turned and left the hall, knowing he had such a long way to get to his gun, but so, so little time.

He crossed a street and went along a way. It wasn't just a way, though, it turned, and suddenly Devil was in the jungle, fighting his way through the undergrowth, his arms getting scraped in the process, his feet sinking into the slurry ground, slowing him down. Devil was running out of time, and he knew it, knew so perfectly well that he was gonna be late, even though he didn't know what time it was or how much time had passed. He wouldn't make it. And then the jungle stopped, just stopped; Devil had to balance his way over what looked like a netting of roots, braided into a giant dome-shaped thing, and Devil was standing at the top of it, staring down and realizing he was so high up off the earth that he couldn't see the ground. The sun was blinding him.

Devil knew he wasn't supposed to be here. He'd gotten lost along the way. So many possibilities presented themselves in his mind on how to escape this place, and they all led him back here in the end.

One of the roots snapped, and Devil fell into the bottomless pit, through clouds, saw the sunshine disappear, and he knew, he KNEW this was just a dream. He was falling, but he knew it was just a dream. All you need to do, he told himself, before you start to scream, is wake up. Wake. UP.

Devil woke up with a start, but he did scream, too. Nina jerked awake next to him and turned onto her back, looking at him where he was sitting up, breathing heavily like he'd just run a marathon.

"Devil?" she asked sleepily. "Everythin' alrigh'…?"

Devil squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to forget how it had felt to fall, so REAL, and willing his heartbeat to calm the fuck down.

"S'fine, baby" he pressed out. "Jus' had a wild dream. Sleep on."

"'Kay…"

Nina's lids were drooping again, and she was asleep within the minute. Devil carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake her again. He sat himself in the living room, on the couch, and stared at the TV, not seeing what he was watching on mute, until he dozed off and woke up a short time later when Nina had to get up for work. She saw that he had fallen asleep on the couch and she looked worried, but she didn't say anything. Devil wouldn't have said anything either way, and he was glad she didn't try to pry anything out of him.

That day Nina didn't get off work early. She worked her normal hours from nine to five, and Devil left shortly before she got home. He didn't want to see her. There were still quite a few hours to kill until night time came around, and Devil used the extra time on his hands to drive along the entire Woodlake Road, up and down, and then up and then down again, until he'd found what he believed to be the perfect position for the roadblock. Putting his car in park at the side of the road, he disassembled his Beretta and cleaned it. Counted his ammunition. Checked his gear. Gloves, check. Plastic bags, check. Shovel, check.

Devil looked at the time. Still between one and three hours until encounter. Damn it, Devil thought. If I wait for this any longer, I'mma go nuts! Fifty minutes later, it was half past ten, the sun had set completely now, and the road was empty. Even in daylight only few cars had passed him. Devil decided that now it was time to set the road block. If anyone came by that wasn't Stacey Granger, he'd just let them through. They wouldn't remember him.

When Devil had left Wynn Duffy in the pet store the day before, he'd walked to the far end of the parking lot of the Wal-Mart Supercenter, where Mike was waiting for him, wearing a black hat so he wouldn't be recognized (and looking pretty ridiculous with it), and handed two timber trestles over to him. Now Devil got them out of the back of his truck and stood them on the middle of the northbound lane. They were painted in red and white stripes, like the police-issued barrier tape, so the headlights of anyone's car would catch them and the drivers would be forced to halt. Satisfied with his work, Devil sat back in his truck, leaving the door open so he could get out quickly if need be. He checked his gun for the last time. It was all fine.

And then suddenly he could see lights in the distance, they came near. He heard the hum of an engine. Reflexively he checked his gun again. His leg was twitching like crazy, his whole body was buzzing with nervous energy. What if it was Granger, but what if someone was following directly behind her? Neither him nor Duffy had pondered over that possibility for long because it was just so unlikely, but what if it did happen now? He'd have to kill them both. And what if it was a family in the other car? With children?

Devil only now noticed that his breathing was becoming erratic. Jesus Christ, he thought. Derek Lennox, pull yourself together. You will not have a panic attack now. Get a grip!, he told himself. Calm down. Breathe. In, and out. Good.

The car was nearing now. There was only the one car, so that was something. Devil wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. The Beretta was in its place in the back of his belt. He stood up and neared the road as the car came closer and closer. The lights still blinded Devil enough that he couldn't tell if it was her, or someone else. Then the car came to a stop in front of the roadblock, and Devil took a few steps to the side, to be out of the light, and he could see Stacey Granger's pretty face frown at the trestles. He stepped out of the shadows.

"Hey there, Ms. Granger" he said, and his voice didn't sound nearly as raw as he felt.

She jerked in surprise and turned to him. He could see her thinking about where she knew him from, until recognition dawned a few seconds later.

"Oh. You. Hello. What are…" And then the REAL recognition set in.

"Oh… oh. Well… I should… I should have known, shouldn't I. Mandy told me you paid and then didn't even do her, you just left. I should have seen this coming."

She got out of her car, leaving the headlights on, and in the simmering semi-darkness they created, he could only see half of her face, but that half had lost most of its cockiness. Right now, there was no invincible, stone-cold bitch standing in front of Devil, it was just a skinny woman that realized she was alone in an empty street with a stranger who had set up a roadblock for her, surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of fields and forest.

"Maybe you shoulda" Devil said. He shook his head. "Why in the hell didn't you just give Duffy back his money? You have it now. Why couldn't you just give it back, huh?"

"So Duffy sent you."

"Yeah. Yeah, he did."

"And what now? You set up a roadblock to head me off, and now?"

"Now I'mma shoot you" Devil answered honestly and took his Beretta out of his belt. He didn't raise it yet, just kept it in his hand at his side, the weight a comfort in this alien situation.

Granger's mouth started trembling when she saw the gun and understood that this was no game, that this was reality. That Devil had the honest intention of killing her.

"Okay, look" she said, holding up a hand like it could stop a bullet. "We can talk about this. I'm sure we could work something out. Like whatever… whatever Duffy offered you, I'll double it. I'll double it, yeah, okay? I'm serious! I got the money, you said it yourself, you know I ain't joking!"

"It ain't about money. Not just about that, anyway. I… I gotta do it, or I'mma get killed."

"You don't have to be afraid of Duffy, I… I can get you under my protection! It's the Dixie Mafia, I'm sure we can handle something like that, you don't have to do this, please."

"It ain't about Duffy. It's… complicated. Sorry."

Devil lifted the gun and pointed it at her, and Granger started crying. "Please! No. Don't. Just… stop, please, I'll… I'll do anything, please!"

She started unbuttoning her blouse then and Devil almost rolled his eyes; of course she would think fucking would get her out of this situation. A woman like her, beautiful and aware of it, in her business, she'd probably been sliding by on her looks her entire life, and it might have gotten her out of a few sticky situations. But Devil knew that, like the poor nigger boy whose legs he hadn't had the strength to break, this woman was dead. Even if Devil actually let her live and Duffy made good on his threat of ratting him out to Quarles, if Duffy survived that, he would just find another guy to kill her off for him. Wynn Duffy had been planning his vendetta against this woman since he'd first asked her to give him his money back and she'd said no.

She was good as dead. If Devil could save his own skin now, and sacrifice hers to do it, he decided he just had to do it then. He'd already gotten this far. You couldn't trust this woman to give back something that was actually, truthfully someone else's property, so how could you trust her to keep to her word about protection?

Devil shook his head. "You can keep your tits in your shirt, girl. You ain't gettin' out of this one with them."

"What…" Granger's shaking fingers stilled on her last buttons. "Come on. You want this. Every man wants this. All you ever want is to fuck me. I saw you stare at my tits yesterday. You want this. I'm giving it to you-"

"Girl, I didn't stare at your tits. You jus' wanted me to, you're fuckin' delusional."

And just like that, the invincible, stone-cold bitch was back. Her spine went rigid, her face transformed, and it was like another person entirely was standing in front of Devil. He understood. Not the stone-cold bitch was an act, but the scared one was. This was her, this was Stacey Granger: Stone-cold, detached. Dangerous. Invincible megalomaniac.

"You think so, huh. You like to think that I'm the crazy one here. Well, I'm not the one pointing a gun at someone I hardly know."

"And I ain't the one tryin' to fuck their way out of a situation there ain't no way out of" Devil interrupted her. He inched a bit closer to her, his gun now pointed directly at her chest, because in this darkness, he wanted to make sure he wouldn't miss.

"There's always a way out, haven't you figured that out yet?" Granger's mouth was set into a thin line. Her face wasn't really pretty that way anymore, and with tear stains on her cheeks and her blouse undone like this, she didn't look better than any of her whores.

"You didn't answer my question. Why didn't you just pay Duffy back what you owed him?"

"Because" Granger said, pushing a strand of glossy brown hair out of her face elegantly, "I didn't want to."

Stacey Granger didn't have any regrets, Devil could see it plain as day. It made him feel better about what he was going to do now.

"Well, you have it your way" he said. Pulling the trigger had never felt so easy, and never so hard.

The impact of the bullet threw Granger back onto the ground. A fine spray of blood colored the air around her red for a few seconds. It rained onto the grass they were standing on. Or, well, Devil was standing on. Granger was lying now, her body in spasms, wet choking sounds coming from her throat. She wasn't dead yet, even though Devil had aimed rather perfectly for the heart. Shuffling over to her, Devil could see that blood was running freely out of her mouth to both sides. It looked ugly. She looked ugly. Devil knew, if he told her this now, this woman would die unhappy. He decided against it, doing her this one little favor.

When Granger saw him standing over her, she gave a weak squeaking sound that could have been a try at talking, or just a noise to express pain. Devil crouched down.

"W… why-y?" Granger asked. Devil shrugged.

"I guess we just both were in the wrong place at the wrong fuckin' time."

And then, just like that, she died. From one moment to the next, her eyes stopped looking at him, and just looked through him. The light went. The change in appearance was instantaneous. On TV, when somebody died, they made it look like it took the body some time to lose its color, but in real life, it wasn't like that. The second the heart stopped beating and pumping blood through the veins, the skin turned gray. The body took a few minutes to cool down, that much was true, but the color? It changed from one second to the next.

Crouching over the body of Stacey Granger in the dark on the side of the road, Devil listened into himself and tried to find out what he was feeling. He wasn't sure whether the lack of regret was a bad thing, maybe a sign that he'd lost his mind? But, no, that couldn't be. For now, Devil decided that it had to be a good thing, because he still had some things to do.

Getting the plastic bags out of the car, he wrapped the body up as neatly as he could. Lifting her wasn't that hard; luckily Stacey Granger had been skinny, probably a victim of media-induced diet delusions. The heaviest part of her body had to be her fake tits. Still it took some fight out of Devil to haul her into the trunk of his truck. A slack human body, as skinny as it was, bore an unbelievable weight to it. Next he packed up the trestles and just left Granger's car standing in the middle of the lane, now looking abandoned.

It was midnight by the time Devil sat behind the wheel and started the motor with a body in the trunk. Now the really tricky part of the plan began. Wynn Duffy had obviously put a lot of thought into it, and Devil dimly wondered if all his murders were that well thought through. He drove along Woodlake Road straight onto Bedford Road, then took the right turn onto Georgetown Road. It felt weird, driving this route with Granger's remains in the trunk, knowing this was her way home, the route she'd taken every day. Devil saw the trees and fields pass him by and knew that Granger had seen these trees and these fields every day. He looked at them for the first time, but Granger, she'd probably known every single one of them by heart and hadn't even noticed she did, but if something was in disarray in this environment she'd seen so often without actually seeing it, Devil was sure she would have noticed. It felt more like an invasion into her privacy than her unbuttoning her blouse for him and him looking into her eyes while she died had.

Thinking about that, the quiet of the night became almost oppressive, and Devil turned on the radio, which at this hour there was only shit on, so he pushed a CD into the player that Keegan had lent him. It was some dark techno stuff, Prodigy he thought Keegan had said the name of the band was, and usually Devil didn't listen to this crap, but right now, it really, actually fit his mood. John Denver wouldn't have done it right now.

No car came across him on Frankfort Pike, and Devil was glad of it. Being this alone made him feel more secure. Finally he reached the inner skirts of Georgetown. Duffy had told him where to go, and Devil knew the way by heart as he maneuvered his truck onto North Broadway Street and looked at the dark, silent houses in the neighborhoods he passed. Not a single person was on the street. It was like a blessing.

Had he actually wanted to arrive at Granger's home, Devil knew he would have had to drive onto Payne Ave and then take a turn to the left onto Rough River Run to get into the rich neighborhood her house was located in. But that wasn't where Devil was headed, and hence he slowed down less than half a mile before the right turn onto Payne Ave offered itself and turned left instead. He would have liked to drive further so as to not have such a long distance to walk on foot, but he didn't want to be seen, and he was sure the Georgetown Sewer Department had security cameras installed, as well.

Devil drove slowly past some gigantic fertilizer basins and into the woods, as far as his old 4runner would go. Then he halted, and turned the motor off. The lights went out in an instant, as did the music, and for a moment Devil sat there in the complete blackness and silence, willing his eyes to get used to the darkness, and feeling like he was being swallowed whole. It reminded him of a nightmare he'd had repeatedly when he was three or four years old, one of the first memories of his childhood he still had. He'd laid in bed and pulled the blanket over his head, and suddenly the blackness under the blanket swallowed him and he couldn't surface anymore, and he could hear a storm, a tornado blowing over the blanket and there was nothing he could do.

Devil blinked to rid himself of that memory. The woods started taking fuzzy shapes around him, and he checked his cell phone for the time: Too early still? Duffy had told him to wait until 2 am. But it would take Devil some time to bury the body, and as he listened around, trusting only his ears in the oppressive darkness around him, he heard nothing, nothing at all. A breeze blowing in the warm September air. A crocket chirped, then stopped, then picked up its chirping again. No sounds of voices, or cars, or anything else even remotely human, other than Devil's own breathing.

Fuck Duffy, Devil thought to himself. It's late enough. The earlier I'm done with this shit, the better.

As silently as he could he slipped out of the truck, leaving the door open a crack so he didn't have the unnecessary noise of slamming it shut, and walked around to the trunk. It couldn't be physically possible, as far as Devil knew (whose knowledge of physics was admittedly small), but Granger's body seemed to have gotten heavier since he'd last lifted it, and it pissed Devil off. He didn't exactly know how much further it was to his destination, but it had to be a quarter of a mile at least, and he had to walk that distance through the darkness with the body and a shovel.

Heaving the body over his shoulder in a weird half-fireman's carry, he grabbed the shovel and left the trunk open as well. He could close it when he left. Here in the dark, no-one would find it anyway. Grabbing a flashlight, he went on his way.

Devil was headed, and that was the real elaborate part of Duffy's plan, to the Georgetown Sewer Department because for one, there was a construction site on the compound where they wanted to build an environmental monitoring station, and the foundations for that had been dug in the last couple of days. The next day, and that was the reason why Devil had had to kill Granger tonight, they would pour the cement over the foundations so they could start building. And if Devil buried the body in the dirt before the cement was poured over it, nobody would ever find it, and nobody would ever find out what had happened to Granger. Sure, they would find the car, and they would see specks of blood on the side of Woodlake Road where the car stood. But nobody would ever actually be able to prove that she'd been murdered.

It was a perfect plan, Devil knew. He wondered if Duffy had stolen it from Misfits. But even if anybody figured out that Granger's body could be buried somewhere, the stretch from Woodlake Road to the Sewer Department was a long one to make.

Devil illuminated the ground in front of his feet so he wouldn't fall on his face. He still tripped over rocks and roots and bumps from time to time. Luckily he never fell. The extra weight on his back was hell on his side, even though it hadn't hurt him in quite some time now, and he was drenched in sweat when he finally, finally reached the threshold of the Department compound. He could see the construction side, it was only thirty feet away from him now, and he could have wept, he was so glad to see it. The last few seconds it took him to get close enough that he could drop the body to the ground passed agonizingly slow, but he made it. Turning the flash light off, he sat on the ground next to the wrapped-up body and tried to catch his breath.

Listening to his environment again, he still couldn't hear anything. He was far away enough from any building that he felt secure enough to not be on any camera. This was Georgetown, not Frankfort – no-one would think it necessary to observe a construction site for a Sewer Department. Devil could smell the stench of waste and sewage. That was the other reason why this place was perfect for burying a body. If the body started to rot, no-one would smell it because everything was covered by the fumes of thousands of people's worth of shit.

Devil took a deep breath then and moved his head from side to side to get the tension out of his neck. His side had ceased acting up. He was as good to go as he was going to get tonight. So he stood up and grabbed the shovel he'd dropped to the ground, and slid down into the pit where the foundation for the monitoring station had been dug out. He started digging right at the edge of the dropping. It didn't have to be that deep, but he couldn't risk anyone accidently seeing a finger sticking out, so he had to dig at least three feet of dirt out.

Devil had no idea how long he'd been digging, the flash light lying on the ground so he could see where to set the shovel next. The night was still silent when he dropped the body into the hole, and as silent as it ever was when he started shoveling the dirt back in its place. Stomping on the ground where he had buried Granger to even it out, he thought he heard, or rather felt, something snap. Might have been her spine, he thought. Well, it wouldn't bother her anymore.

Devil was exhausted when he stumbled back to his truck in the woods. The cricket was still at it, chirping an entire concert just for him. Devil checked his cell phone again. 4 am. Time to get out of here, he thought. He packed up his stuff, closed all the doors that needed closing and started the motor as quickly as he could, but it still seemed not quick enough, too slow. Too slow. That feeling rang a bell in his mind, he couldn't quite catch on, though, and just realized how goddamn tired he was. It was still more than half an hour until he was at Nina's. He had no idea how he was supposed to stay awake that long… he knew he couldn't stop anywhere for coffee, though. He'd committed a crime; he needed to be unseen.

So he just started driving, down Frankfort Pike, and when he was out of the more lived in areas and back to just fields and forest, he turned on the CD player and cranked up Prodigy as high as he dared to keep him awake. He sent a text while driving to Duffy with his number suppressed, consisting of one word. 'done.'

The question of an alibi popped up in his mind. How likely was it that the polies would suspect him of having anything to do with the disappearance (because once the cement was poured into the foundation, that was all it was going to be: a disappearance) of Stacey Granger? He had visited her whore house once. If that alone had been enough of a reason to be a suspect, half of the population of Frankfort would have been suspicious, so no. That couldn't be it. Okay, so around a couple corners the cops could find out that he was working for Quarles. But one of the main suspects, Duffy, had no apparent connections to him.

Still, Devil thought. If he asked Nina to cover for him and, should anyone ask, say that he'd been with her all night…

Of course, she would wonder why he even needed an alibi in the first place. He wasn't sure she'd grant him one if he told her the truth; he wasn't even sure if she'd grant him to STAY if he told her the truth.

Therefore, when Devil finally arrived at Nina's flat, after taking off his clothes and hopping in the shower to get rid of the dirt, and slipped into bed next to her, to her question of where he'd been all night, he just said, "Nowhere."

* * *

I don't know where Wynn Duffy got his idea about the Sewer Department, but I most certainly got it from Misfits. An Environmental Monitoring Station? It DOES sound like bullshit.

The Prodigy songs Devil listens to are my favorite Prodigy songs: "Smack my bitch up", "Firestarter" and "Spitfire". And yes, I got "Smack my bitch up" from the Misfits season 1 finale (Nathan's got some seriously good music on his iPod!), but "Firestarter" is one of my mom's favorite songs and has been since the 90s, so there you go. I have a cool mother!


	11. Chapter 11

This chapter turned out to be a long one, as well, but it was also the one I struggled with the most. Really, I had a very hard time getting it toegther, it took me an entire week, which is awfully long compared to the usual writing pace I'd acquired with the rest of this story. But I did get it done. Devil had some workings to do, and apparently, so did I, because the epiphany Devil has at the end of this chap was one that came to me literally while writing it. I guess this was the roadblock I'd been so afraid of - this is the longest thing I've ever written, ever, fanfiction or otherwise.

Now, a thing or two about the content: The OC of John Bourgignon is based on John Candy's role in the 1988 comedy "Going Berserk" (I've never seen it, but judging from the wikipedia summary, it's gotta be terrible), and the OC of Craig Allan Shaun is based on the second, no, third probation worker from Misfits, you know, Shaun, the cool one.

WARNING: Use of the n-word and the c-word, talk about prostitution, explicit descriptions of violence, hints at PTSD.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 11

* * *

"So, I received your text last night, or should I say, early this morning, and I'll say this" Wynn Duffy said. "I am very, very happy right now, Mr. Devil."

"That so" Devil said, picking at left-over dirt under his fingernails.

"Why, yes!" Duffy spread his arms so wide his left hand bumped against a wall of the confined storage room. He shook it to get the sting out. "Ow. I had someone call someone who works at the Sewer Department in Georgetown, and they said the cement was poured in first thing this morning, without any incidents. Now it really is done. We got away with it, Mr. Devil, and I have to thank you."

Devil nodded.

"Really, thank you for your input!"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Well, seems like you're not that happy right now. You tell me. Do you feel bad about it?"

Devil rolled his eyes. "Look, man. I ain't in the best of places because I didn't sleep at fuckin' all last night, because, oh, wait, I had to spend most of it buryin' a body for you. So excuse me for not dancin' you around the parkin' lot."

"Alright, alright. Fair enough." Duffy folded his hands in his lap. "You're tired, I get that. But there are still some things I need you to do for me before you can actually say it's a job well done."

"What now. There someone else I need to kill? You just tell me, cause it seems I'm on a roll or somethin'."

"You most certainly are. The Norwegians were on the news, you know."

Devil's head jerked up. "They were?" How in the hell could he have missed that?

"Yes, they were. Made a big thing out of it, too, but, what would you expect?" Duffy asked with a big grin. "You shot them in a public park! There were children around who could've gotten caught in the crossfire."

"Not in MY fire they wouldn't have. I knew what I was shootin' at."

"I know, I know. And I know it wasn't your call. Seems to me that when it comes to business transactions such as these, Quarles's got a flair for the dramatic. Anyway."

Duffy fished a folder out of his bag and handed it to Devil, who took it slowly and opened it, frowning. "What am I lookin' at?"

"That's one of the guys that you're going to pay a visit to, uh, make sure they know where they stand with the bids for the whore house."

"Well, that one's a fat bastard" Devil said, studying the picture. "John Bourgi… Bournign… what is it?"

"John Bourgignon" Duffy said. "He is indeed a fat bastard, looks like a giant baby with a toupet, and he's got about as much fight in him as one, too, so you won't have much trouble with him. The other one, though, he's a bit more tricky. But you'll just have to be a bit more… violent, alright? I think you can manage that."

Violent, Devil thought. Like I haven't had enough of that.

About an hour after he'd finally laid down next to Nina to try and get some sleep, her alarm clock went off and she'd had to get up for work. And Devil was exhausted, so goddamned exhausted, but he just couldn't sleep. Pictures of what he'd done flashed through his mind. Images of him looking into Granger's eyes while she died. And what kept him awake about it was not him feeling bad about it, as Duffy had to think, but the absolute, complete absence of guilt. All Devil really remembered was a tremendous, almost prodigious sense of relief that he'd gotten it over with. And Devil just had this nagging feeling that something wasn't right about that.

Devil was rather realistic about stuff like that, had always been. Whenever he'd had to kill someone before, like those Bennett thugs while Boyd was at the town hall to have a chat with Mags, he didn't feel a thing, other than pride when he hit, and anger at himself when he missed, and that crack in the windshield of Dickie Bennett's truck still pissed him off to no end. An inch, just an inch further to the left, and at least he would have been able to make up for Ava getting shot. But those two Norwegians he'd had to shoot for Quarles, the guilt and dread he'd felt afterwards, they'd changed his view on this business, on murder. He'd had to tell himself over and over again that he'd done it for Funny, that he'd had to do it or Funny would have died. Devil guessed this kind of thinking had implanted itself into his mind so impertinently that he'd anticipated it to come to life with another murder.

But it didn't, and Devil didn't understand. What was so different about this?

"Yeah" he said slowly, frowning, not looking at Duffy. "I can manage that."

* * *

John Bourgignon was a fat bastard who ran a human trafficking circle through a small whore house that he owned in Elizabethtown, and he wanted Granger's big establishment for obvious reasons. He had the money, too, enough money to make a relevant bid, at least, and so Devil made the one-and-a-half-hour drive to Elizabethtown to pay him a visit.

It was a small, dirty whore house that smelled of piss and other bodily fluids that turned Devil's stomach and made him think of the nigger boy and what had come of him; was he dead yet? Or had he maybe managed to escape? Devil didn't know, would likely never find out, was at this point even beyond caring. The lack of a reaction to Granger's murder left him feeling hollow for the past few days. He was even behaving differently towards Nina right now, kind of apathetic, and he could see she was worried about him. So far she hadn't said anything about it. He was scared of when she would, and she would, he was sure.

It was a warm September day, not hot, just warm, but inside the dirty little whore house it was sweltering, like the place didn't have a single window and the heat was constantly cranked up. The few girls he came across all looked thin and unhappy, their make-up smudged, some of them flinched back from him when he walked past them, like they were scared he would lash out. Devil could see bruises on their arms and faces. Jesus, he hoped the fat bastard would put up a fight.

He sat down at the bar; the room it was in was small and sweltering, too, only that here, it didn't smell like waste and jizz, just like booze and vomit. Devil preferred that. The bar maid was a fake blonde in her late thirties, maybe early forties, or maybe she was even older, he couldn't tell. The light was dim and she was wearing a lot of make-up. She wore her hair in a high ponytail and had her big boobs pushed up so high they were in danger of falling out of her top. Long fingernails painted red were splintering at the edges and appeared unkempt in general.

"Hey there, champ" she said, smiling at him a little, the edges of her eyes crinkling up and making Devil sure she was older than he'd first thought. "How can I help you?"

"Hey. I, uh, need to see your boss."

She halted in wiping the glass she held in her hand. "Sweetie, what d'you wanna see him for?"

"I think that ain't none of your business, now, is it. Could you please just get him?"

"Sweetie, you don't wanna talk to him" the bar maid said, leaning forward a little, resting her breasts on the bar between her elbows. "He in some mood today. Don't know what's gotten into him."

"Why, what's he doin'?"

She shrugged. "Hit one of the girls for sayin' hello to him this mornin'. An' then, couple minutes later, right, he comes out of his office again, smilin' big an' lookin' at me like I'm the fuckin' sun, sayin' shit like, 'Lauren, today's a good day' an' to make 'em girls breakfast and lunch today cause we can afford it now."

Devil raised a brow. Dear Lord, he hoped the fucker would put up a fight. "That so."

"Yeah! Like, can you believe it!" Lauren the Bar Maid shook her head and made her ponytail flip from one side to the other. "He ain't usually that moody. Like half an hour later, while I'm makin' breakfast for 'em girls like he said, he's lookin' at me like I'm crazy and goin' all, 'Ey, what you doin'? We can't afford to have 'em girls eat breakfast, what am I, a money machine' an' shit. Now they don't get no lunch today. I dunno what's gotten into him."

"I might have an idea" Devil said. "An' that's why I gotta go see him. And don't worry" he added when Lauren opened her mouth again, "I can take care of myself. Jus' got some business to talk about."

"Alright then, sweetie" Lauren said and put down rag and glass. "Don't say I didn't warn you, though."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Lauren left and Devil wandered over to the juke box in the corner and randomly pushed some buttons. A sad folk-county song began and a yearning woman sang about being a goddamn coward and not knowing what to do. Devil rolled his eyes. What other kinds of demoralizing songs did they play here to remind the women of their situation?

He sat back down at the bar and looked at the dusty disco ball that hung from the ceiling. He would have liked to help himself to a drink, but the entire room appeared to him like he could get STDs from even just sitting there, so he refrained. A whore, who was just a girl, as far as he could see, passed him, her bathrobe hanging carelessly open and letting Devil see a hand-shaped bruise on the top of her thigh near her hip. A cigarette dangled from her fingers, and when she saw him looking, she gave him a tired smile that didn't reach her eyes. Devil gave her a two-fingered salute, and that made her smile at bit wider and more real.

The only similarities, as far as Devil could tell, between this rotten place and Granger's high-class, expensive establishment, were the fake smiles. This business seemed to live on that.

Apparently the juke box was on repeat, because the sad song played three times in a row before Lauren came back and told him the boss was ready to see him now. She shot him a worried look. "What kinda business was it that you need to talk to him about?" she asked. Devil gave her a grim smile that felt as fake as it should in this place.

"Girl, I think I told you it ain't none of your business… though maybe it is. I'mma tell you when I leave."

He moved his head to the side a little, and it made his neck crack. He grimaced. "Maybe get the first aid kit ready, if you got one."

"What, for your neck?" Lauren asked, confused.

"Nah. For your boss. Trust me, he's gon' need it."

Devil didn't see the shocked look Lauren sent after him, but he could imagine it pretty well. He walked through the narrow hallway to the only door that it led to. There was no sign on it that would have told any visitors what was behind it, but it was the direction that Lauren had come from, and there was only this one door here, so it had to be the office she'd mentioned. Without knocking he stepped in.

And there sat John Bourgignon in his office chair, fat spilling over to both sides of it because Bourgignon's fat ass didn't fit into regular chairs. He had a cigar in hand, a brand new one that was still packed in plastic wrappers. It seemed he'd been in the process of unwrapping and lighting it when Devil entered the room, and Bourgignon looked at the intruder with annoyed disdain.

"Who're you an' what d'you want?" were his first words to Devil.

"I'm here to talk to you bout Stacey Granger" Devil answered, crossing his arms. Five seconds were all he needed to be able to tell that this fat bastard was one of those 'All hat and no cattle' types who felt pretty awesome about themselves because they had a job where they could boss others around. The guy studied Devil with an amount of contempt that he really could not afford, considering the condition of the place he ran.

At the mentioning of Granger a deep frown settled over Bourgignon's fat face. "What d'you know about Stacey Granger?" he asked.

"I know she's missin', and I know you wanna buy her whore house, and, well, I can understand, when you look at the state of this place" Devil said, waving his hand around.

"An' what if I did? What's it to you?"

"Well, I'm here to tell you it ain't gonna happen."

"What ain't gonna happen?"

"You buyin' the whore house."

Bourgignon stood up, and Devil half expected the chair to be stuck to his fat ass. It wasn't, but Devil imagined it had to be a close call.

"An' why would you think that?" Bourgigon said in a low voice that was supposed to be threatening, but that had no effect whatsoever on Devil, who knew a threat when he heard one. Boyd and his Marshal friend, they could be threatening alright; they'd make you piss your pants with just a few words if they were pissed off enough. Nathan, Devil's cousin, could do it, too. But this fat bastard? Devil just wasn't able to take him seriously, although he was sure someone who didn't have the insight that Devil had gained could be impressed by the man's size. Bourgignon, in addition to his overweight, was about six foot three and had quite the imposing appearance. Shame that he only used it to abuse his employees and keep them under.

"Cause I know a couple things. First off, there are bigger fish who wanna bid for it, and you ain't gonna be able to outbid 'em. Look at you, in that suit" Devil said, aiming for a voice filled with condescension, "what'd you pay for it? Thirty bucks?"

Bourgignon began to wheeze from anger, and Devil wondered if he was able to piss Bourgignon off so much that the fat bastard got a heart attack; that would solve several problems all at once.

"And" Devil continued, "I can tell you that if you did bid for it, bad things would happen to you. I ain't gonna go into detail if you don't want me to, but, well, jus' sayin'."

"Bad things, huh" Bourgignon said, walking around his desk, his huge stomach waving from side to side.

"Oh yeah."

"An' what kinda bad things, huh? Who the hell do you think you are? You think I'm afraid a'you, boy? You ain't got no idea what I'm capable of doin' to-"

As soon as he was close enough Devil drew his Beretta and shot Bourgignon in the foot. The fat bastard fell to the floor with an undignified high-pitched scream. The ground shook a little under his weight. Devil was at his side in an instant, pressing the barrel of his gun to Bourgignon's forehead.

"Listen to me, you fat bastard" He said. "You ain't got no idea what I am capable of, either. So you's gon' shut up now."

Just for the hell of it, Devil punched him in the face, hard. Bourgignon whined, and his hand stung, but it was worth it.

"You don't need to know who I am, jus' know that if you bid for the whore house, anythin', even if it's just a single fuckin' dollar, I'mma have to come back here and shoot you in your fat motherfuckin' face. You got me?"

Bourgignon didn't respond immediately, so Devil hit him in the nose with the butt of his gun. It started bleeding immediately.

"I'll ask one more time, fattie. You. Got. Me?"

Bourgignon nodded, tears in his eyes.

"Say it."

"I… I ain't gon' bid for the whore house."

Devil patted his fat shoulder. "Good, then. That's all I wanted to hear."

He stood up and stowed his Beretta in the back of his belt. Bourgignon made for a pathetic figure, lying in his fat on the stained carpet. Without saying good bye, Devil just opened the door and left. There were several girls standing in the narrow hallway, most likely they'd heard the shot and wondered what had happened in there. Devil passed them and stopped at the bar, where Lauren stood and looked at him with big eyes.

"You got the first aid kit ready?" he asked her. She just nodded.

"Go on then. He's bleedin' all over that shitty carpet of his."

Leaving the whore house and its sweltering heat felt like entering another world entirely; out into the sunshine and the fresh air, out of the stench and darkness. He felt strange about leaving this place behind; he knew he'd never see Lauren again, or that young whore with the hand-shaped bruise on her thigh that had smiled at him. They would continue to live their shitty lives and he would continue to live his, because that was just the way things went.

One down, Devil thought, sitting in his truck and turning the key in the ignition. One to go.

* * *

Craig Allan Shaun was a rich man from a rich family in London, England, who'd at some point decided to move to Kentucky and since then lived in a big-ass house in Lawrenceburg. He'd multiplied his family fortune with stock exchange. Shaun used a good portion of his money on the maintenance of the three gigantic aquariums in his house that each held about 1300 gallons of water, and when he'd heard of a gigantic whore house/money machine whose manager was currently missing, and would most likely stay missing, as well, considering the police had found her car abandoned on the side of a road and specks of her blood in the grass next to it, Shaun thought that it would be a nice opportunity for some extra income.

And now it was Devil's job to go pay him a visit in his big-ass house in Lawrenceburg and tell him it wasn't gonna happen.

The visit to John Bourgignon's dingy establishment was three days ago. It was a hot day, humid, really, and the sky was covered in dark gray, low-hanging clouds. It was obvious there would be rain later, maybe even a whole thunderstorm. The weather fit Devil's mood quite well, though; he felt like he'd been running around with some dark clouds over his head for the last week. He was starting to get worried himself now, because this wasn't normal. Why in the hell was he still feeling like shit? And what for, anyway? He didn't feel regret over Granger, just relief. That was what worried him the most. He had the feeling there was a storm brewing, and not just in the sky.

The house this Craig Allan Shaun lived in really was big, almost a villa. White, with a huge porch with pillars and embellishments and all that shit, and Devil was sure there had to be a pool somewhere, too. He wasn't sure how this was supposed to go. Should he just knock? And when Shaun opened the door, he'd say "Surprise!" and shoot him in the foot like he'd done with Bourgignon? Devil didn't think it would work like that. Duffy had said this guy was a tough nut to crack, way tougher than that fat bastard.

For lack of a better idea Devil did end up just ringing the door bell, not knowing what to expect. He absolutely hated Duffy for making him do this. When the door opened, Devil was ready to pull his gun, but it turned out to be a housekeeper, not Shaun, and he left his Beretta where it was. Of course the fucker had a housekeeper. Of course.

"Hello?" the middle-aged Hispanic woman said.

"Hi, uh. I'd like to speak to Mr. Shaun…"

"He's in his study room, Sir, I can show you…" Devil noticed how she regarded him with caution. "Is he expecting you?"

"Nah, I don't think so, it's a surprise visit, really. Jus' tell him I'm here cause of Stacey Granger, he's gonna wanna see me."

"Okay, Sir. Your name was…?"

"I'm here cause of Stacey Granger. Go on, tell him."

The housekeeper walked away from him with a big frown and left Devil standing in the big lobby with marble floors and an honest-to-God chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It smelled clean and fresh in here, and the air conditioning was running full force, a welcome relief from the humidity outside. Devil was rather tired, he hadn't slept at all the last night. Just lying awake, he'd listened to Nina's breathing and the cracks of thunder he could hear in the distance. He hadn't called Boyd in too long, he thought; he needed to do that as soon as possible. Nina had finally asked him what was wrong, and he'd said he didn't know, which was at least partially true. He could see she didn't believe him, though. It was after all only a partial truth, but that was all she was going to get.

The housekeeper came back, followed by a tall, lanky man, in statue similar to Boyd's Marshal friend, but lacking his imposing demeanor. He had dark blonde hair that was gelled to the side and made him look a bit like he'd been a boy band fan stuck in the 90s.

"So" the guy that had to be Shaun said, "you're the bloke that wants to talk to me about Ms. Granger, yeah?"

"That's me" Devil said and Shaun looked at him like he was worth less than the dirt under his shoes.

"Well, pleasure to meet you, my name's Craig Allan Shaun, and you would be?"

"Here to talk to you, so where'd you like to do that?"

"What's wrong with my lobby?"

Devil snorted. "Nothin', man, just, trust me, you don't wanna do it here."

Shaun squinted his eyes at him. "Okay then" he said. "Follow me to my study, please."

"Nice aquarium" Devil said when they entered the study where there was a gigantic aquarium with dozens of small colorful fishes in it, as well as coral algae and stones. "It's… big."

"Why, yes, it is big" Shaun answered. "Take a seat, please."

"Nah, I'mma just stand here."

"Alright then. Don't mind me taking a seat."

"Nah, I don't mind."

"Good." Shaun sat down in a chair behind a large oak desk, and Devil thought that too many people had desks to sit behind. He was getting tired of this kind of scenarios. Too many people that sat behind desks ended up getting shot by him. Devil considered telling Shaun this, but he refrained because, where would be the fun in that?

"Now, Mr. Nameless, would you care to tell me why you show up here unannounced and want to talk to me about Ms. Granger?"

"Sometimes it's good, you know, to remain nameless" Devil said, admiring the aquarium the stood to the side of the room, along the entire left wall. He tapped the glass to get the fish to pay attention to him, and they strayed away from him.

"Please don't tap the glass, thank you."

"Because, Mr. Craig Allan Shaun" Devil continued, "you know what they say bout guys with three first names where I come from?"

"No, what do they say?" Shaun sounded highly annoyed.

"That you can't trust 'em."

"Do they say that."

"They certainly do. Makes me think that maybe it's true and I should be watchin' my back with you for what I'mma tell you now."

"And, do tell, what would that be?" Shaun folded his hands and gave him a cocky smile that hid his unease at the situation almost completely. Almost.

"You know bout Stacey Granger. Her disappearin'." Devil tapped the glass a last time before turning to give Shaun his undivided attention.

"Everybody does by now."

"Yeah, but you got special interest in that, don't you? Cause you wanna get your hands on that whore house a'hers, ain't that right?"

Shaun looked unimpressed. "Why would I? It's a bloody whore house. What would I want to do with that?"

"Make money. It's a fuckin' cash machine, everybody knows that, too. And lookin' around, I reckon you like makin' money."

"Just get to the bloody point here, mate."

"Alright then, 'mate'" Devil said, "I'mma get to the point now. You wanna bid on the whore house, and I'm here to tell you that's a bad idea, cause if you do, you might not live to actually buy it."

"Says who?" Shaun snorted. "Did Wynn Duffy send you? Really, you're the best he could do? Jesus, I could wander the street at night and pick up some rough sleepers who'd look more threatening than you!"

"Alright, Duffy sent me" Devil shrugged. "If you know he sent me here, you know the guy ain't someone you wanna mess with, so…"

"Why, cause he's the one who offed Granger? It's common knowledge the cunt owed him money, and lots of it, too. That doesn't impress me much."

"It should. I meant what I said, you know, bout you not livin' to buy anythin'."

Shaun sighed and grinned at him from his office chair. "Fuck off."

"Well, I did give you a choice" Devil answered and drew his gun, shooting at Shaun, who was quick, Devil would give him that; he ducked behind his desk as soon as he saw Devil's arm move. He just wasn't quick enough.

The bullet ripped open Shaun's left upper arm, and he shouted in pain as he was trying to go for his own gun that lay in a hidden compartment right underneath the desktop. He even managed to grip it, but before he could properly aim, Devil had kicked it out of his hand and crouched over him, pressing the barrel of his beloved Beretta to Shaun's neck.

"So now it's time to say goodbye" Devil said and then stopped. "Ain't that the name of a song?"

"You're not gonna shoot me, you git" Shaun ground out. "My housekeeper's seen you, she's probably calling the cops as we speak…"

"Yeah, but she don't know my name, does she. I'mma just kill her, too, and all's well."

Shaun swallowed. "Bollocks."

Devil put more pressure on his gun. "You wanna reconsider?"

"Okay, mate, just, uh, wait, will you? Just…"

"It's just one fuckin' whore house" Devil said quietly. "And you already got enough money, man. It ain't worth dyin' over, huh?"

"No…" Shaun cleared his throat. "No, I guess it's not."

"Good. So, will you bid for the whore house?"

"No, uhm. No, I won't."

"Glad to hear you say that, Craig Allan Shaun" Devil said, standing up. "And keep in mind, we know where you live, and, well, you don't wanna mess with Wynn Duffy, man, you really don't. Not over this." He saw the bullet he'd fired sticking out of the stone wall, and he fingered it out and pocketed it. Taking a tissue out of the box that stood on the desk, he wiped his prints off the aquarium and then used it to open the door to the study room. In retrospect he was glad he'd had the sudden intuition to press the door bell with the knuckle of his finger instead of the pad. No prints to wipe off there. Shaun was right, the housekeeper had most likely already called the cops. Time to step off now.

"Bye, Mr. Shaun, I hope I ain't seein' you again" he said. Shaun coughed.

"Me too."

The first drops of rain started falling when Devil was already on the road back to Frankfort for several minutes. It started slow, and then turned into a full-grown thunderstorm midway, where the rain was falling so hard and fast Devil could barely see where he was going, and the wipers were completely overextended. Devil slowed down and eventually decided it wouldn't be wise to drive on any further now. He was far enough from Shaun's house now, and the police would be just as overwhelmed with that fucking weather as he was.

Pulling over to the side of the road, he turned off the motor and leaned back, closing his eyes. The sound of the rain beating down on his truck calmed him. His heart had still been racing from the adrenaline that had been crashing his system in Shaun's study; he'd been ready to kill the man, and the housekeeper, too. He hadn't been kidding. If that was what needed to be done, Devil thought, he'd kill them alright, he'd do what needed doing.

And then he thought of Caleb, the fella who'd so obviously been suffering from PTSD, and what he'd said, about creating an It and not being able to switch it off, and suddenly something inside him snapped. The room of the car seemed confining and there wasn't enough air for him, so he ripped the door open and jumped out into the rain. After the heat of the day the rain felt like a cool release on his skin, and in no time he was soaked to the bone. Sinking to his knees in the muddy ground next to the road, he buried his head in his hands.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Since when did he think like that about killing people? He'd honest to God thought about killing the housekeeper without batting an eye! And for Wynn Duffy, no less. The truth was, Devil had never thought about what it meant to take someone's life until he'd had to kill those two Norwegians, and how he'd done it imminently and directly for someone else, and not just Funny, but also Quarles. And the fact that he'd killed someone for Quarles, of all people, had been the thing that made him start to wonder about taking a life. What it meant, what it entailed.

Devil had killed before, but he hadn't considered himself a murderer until now. That was the difference, he understood that now. Quarles and Duffy had turned him into a murderer, for them and their benefit and no-one else's. He could tell himself all day it was actually for himself, and for Boyd, but in the end, it had been for THEM. He'd taken lives. Three people he knew nothing about. Sure, Granger had been a stone-cold bitch. And those Norwegians had not been business men, but gangsters who'd surely killed before. But Devil didn't know shit about them. If the Norwegians had had children, and wives. If Granger had enjoyed watching "Die Hard". What their favorite food had been. Or their taste in music. And he would never know, and they would never see their families again, never eat their favorite food and watch their favorite movies again, all because of Devil.

Devil let out a shuddering sigh as realization settled in. He'd been overwhelmed by the thing with the Norwegians because it had hit him unexpected, because he'd hoped he wouldn't have to kill them. With Granger, that hope had never been there, and in the absence of that hope, he'd done what Caleb had said: He'd created an It. And apparently now he couldn't switch it off anymore.

"Fuck that" Devil said into the rain. He couldn't become that. He wasn't a fucking cold-blooded killer. Wynn Duffy had made him one, but he wasn't, he really wasn't, because he didn't want to be. He'd known even back then, when he'd turned his gun on Boyd, that he most likely wouldn't have it in him to deliver a kill shot right then and there. He would have never been able to kill Boyd. Who had he been kidding? Mostly himself.

Tears stung in his eyes, and Devil angrily blinked them away. This was NOT who Derek Lennox was. Derek Lennox was not a cold-blooded killer, and it so turned out that apparently he wasn't a racist, either. Maybe it wasn't too late start second-guessing yourself, after all. His limbs felt like they each weighed a ton when he fought himself into a standing position. He'd been frosty and distant with Nina, and Devil knew he needed to make that right, because she was a good thing, a really good thing that had happened to him here in this place that otherwise mostly resembled hell. Sure, Nina was a whiny bitch sometimes, and she had a lot of baggage to carry around with her, the possibly psychotic ex being only the tip of the iceberg. But Devil liked her. He really, seriously liked being around her, liked banging her, but also liked just hanging out with her, eating, even cooking. Everything he did was just a tad bit better when he did it with Nina around. And he wanted to tell her that.

Nina would ask him what was up with him, Devil knew that. He'd just have to tell her as much as he was able to. No lying, but he couldn't tell her the truth, not all of it, anyway. She'd know, she'd understand, she'd been understanding about it so far, and Devil just had to hope she'd keep on doing that now. Right now he needed her understanding more than anything else.

* * *

The sad song that was played on the jukebox is "The Lion's Roar" by First Aid kit. Beautiful song.

Also, I've watched every available episode of Justified, The Walking Dead and Misfits and am currently catching up on Community. Anyone have any ideas about what TV show I should occupy my mind with after I'm finished with Community? I'm open to any and all suggestions you might have to offer me. Long as it ain't Homeland. Or Mad Men. Ah, just shoot.


	12. Chapter 12

The events of this story run parallelly to those in season 3, as I think I told you before, but this story has been pretty independent of season 3 so far. That changes with this chapter: Everything that happens from now on is in direct relation to the events from season 3. So I would say "Spoiler Alert", but I think it's a bit late for that.

Anyway. My fun with Google Maps almost went haywire in this chapter, but, well, I do want to keep it realistic enough, and never actually having been in the USA, I need to take what I can get. Now, I have no idea about the logistics of the Palmer Park in Madison, Alabama, or if it's even open to visitors on Sundays. I couldn't find any information on that on the internet. It's too late to change it now, and I apologize for any mistakes I might have made. Also I am not saying that abandoned cars with not-so-nice things in them are a regular occurence in Madison or anywhere else in Alabama.

And as in several chapters before, this one mentions an OC that ain't mine; Lewis Lennox and his story are property of TellatrixFoever, and TellatrixForever only. I am only using this OC for the purpose of this chapter.

WARNINGS: Drug use, and a corpse.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 12

* * *

When Devil calmed down enough and the rain lessened so you could see where you were going again, he climbed into his truck and drove the rest of the way back to Nina. He had never in his life felt so tired and beat-down. His head was killing him, and he was sick to his stomach. Finally arriving, it was afternoon and still raining when Devil got out of his car and stumbled over to the apartment building, too tired to even pay attention to whether Nick was around. Felicity, the cat, was sitting next to the door, looking as soaked and worn-down as Devil felt. When he neared the door, Felicity started scratching at it, like she was trying to tell him to let her in, and Devil did open the door to her so she could slip in before he stepped inside himself.

When he arrived at Nina's floor, Felicity was already sitting in front of the correct apartment door, blinking at him impatiently. And when he got the door to Nina's flat open and saw her standing up from the couch to greet him, Devil was convinced he'd never been blessed with such a welcoming sight before.

Whatever it was that was showing on Devil's face, it couldn't be good, because he saw Nina's expression fall when she took a closer look at him.

"Devil?" she asked carefully. "Is… are you okay?"

In way of an answer, he took two quick steps to her and just locked her in as tight an embrace as he could without crushing her.

"I missed you" he mumbled into her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"You're drenched to the bone, Devil, what the hell?"

He pressed his nose into her neck and breathed in. "Sorry" was all he said.

"It's… alright, Devil. It's alright."

Nina caught on that he needed some comfort now and hugged him back, tightly, one hand patting his damp hair. Devil didn't think he could let go of her for the time being. They stayed like that for several minutes, before Nina carefully untangled them and grabbed Devil's chin, not ungentle, to force him to look at her.

"Devil" she said clearly, "what happened?"

"I can't tell you" Devil said and frowned; not at her, but at himself and this fucked up situation.

"Tell me what you can tell me, then, babe. Come on, there's gotta be somethin' you can say. You've been distant lately. What the fuck happened to you?"

"I… I did somethin'" Devil said. "An' I didn't wanna, but I had to. An' I don't wanna do it again." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I know I was strange the last couple days. I dunno why it fucked me up like it did, but you… you're awesome, you know. You're the best thing that's happened to me in quite some time, an' everythin' I do is the same with you there, just… better."

"Devil" Nina said, grinning at him, "is that your fucked up way of asking me if I wanna be your girlfriend?"

"And what if it is?"

"Then I say yes."

"You do?"

"Sure, Devil." She kissed him, curtly. "But this, whatever you did, you're gonna have to tell me, eventually. Whatever it was, I… I'm pretty sure I can deal with it. I ain't big on the judgmental shit. I like you, really, I do. But that you can't tell me anythin' about your day, it sucks and I hate that."

"It's for your own protection, an' mine, too."

Nina rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I get that. But it still sucks, and you know it."

"That ain't the only thing that seriously sucks, girl." Devil pressed his lips to her forehead and sighed, the day wearing down on him even more. "But I guess you got a point."

"I always do. Now, you're drenched and exhausted and we need to get you out of those clothes."

Devil gave her a tired smirk. "I'm 'fraid I ain't gon' be able to get anythin' up right now."

"I know that, jerk. You need to sleep. Come on now, before you pass out. I ain't carryin' you into the bedroom."

Felicity, who'd observed the whole scene from where she sat next to the kitchen door, made a quiet cooing noise and stood up when they neared her.

"Someone's hungry" Devil said, walking past the kitchen to throw his wet clothes into the laundry basket in the bathroom.

"I'll give her somethin', you jus' worry bout gettin' into bed" Nina said and entered the kitchen, grabbing a can of cat food. Devil left the bathroom door open while getting undressed, and he listened to the sounds from the kitchen, the scraping of metal against metal when Nina opened the can, another quiet cooing noise from Felicity, then a clang of porcelain against the floor tiles when Nina sat Felicity's bowl onto the floor. Low words of encouragement from Nina when Felicity started gobbling down the food. It all sounded so much like home.

When Devil arrived at his boxers who were drenched as well, he took them off and then scuffled over to the bedroom. Nina raised a brow when she saw him in all his naked glory.

"I thought you said you wouldn't get anythin' up now?"

"I won't. Boxers were wet, too, an' I'm too lazy to put on a clean pair."

Devil threw himself on the bed and just stayed there, eyes closed. He heard Nina come in and sigh, then felt her wrestle the blanket out from under him and cover him with it. The bed dipped a little when she climbed onto the mattress next to him.

"Sleep, will you?" she said and grabbed a book. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

* * *

Devil actually slept an entire eleven hours, and when he woke up, the next morning had arrived, and Nina was sleeping soundly next to him. For a second he thought that she'd have to get up to go to work soon, but it was Saturday. He laid there for a few more minutes, but now he was wide awake, so he stood up quietly so as to not wake Nina (who was officially his girlfriend now, which was kinda crazy) and brewed himself some coffee. It was barely five in the morning, so there wasn't much to do; Devil showered and walked downstairs to check if Felicity wanted inside, which she did. Rubbing her little striped head on his ankle shortly, she galloped up the stairs.

Devil looked up and down the street for a quick check, but it was really early and Nick wasn't there. With a second coffee and Felicity on his lap, Devil eventually sat down on the couch and turned on the TV, and somehow he landed on a re-run of Jersey Shore, watching all those ugly-as-fuck chicks with their fake tans without actually seeing them. The shit that had happened yesterday, Devil still couldn't believe what he'd thought and what he'd said to Nina, practically pouring his heart out to her (or as close to it as he was ever going to get). It was weird, but he felt so much better now, so well-rested and satisfied. He'd figured out why the Norwegians had bothered him so much and why Granger hadn't, and he'd figured out he didn't want to be that person, and that he wouldn't kill anybody for Duffy or Quarles ever again. It felt so good t have that settled, it was such a relief.

A few hours later Nina got up and wished him and Felicity a wonderful morning. Devil thought that indeed it was. Deeming it an adequate time for a phone call now, he dialed Boyd, but the line didn't get picked up. Devil tried three more times, just in case Boyd wasn't up yet, although it seemed unlikely, because Boyd had always been an early riser, cooking his bacon with cinnamon and making coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Devil thought about calling Ava to ask why Boyd didn't pick up his phone, but just as he was about to do it, Keegan called him and asked if he wanted to come over later, because Keegan wanted to show him some new music, and Devil thought that he could still call Ava tonight, or try Boyd's cell again.

* * *

"So where's this from again?" Devil asked and passed the joint back to Keegan while listening to the music.

"Austria" Keegan answered and blew out a perfectly shaped smoke ring.

They were lying on the floor in Keegan's CAG flat, feet propped up on the couch, passing a joint back and forth while listening to a really relaxing draft of electronic music that Keegan had cranked up so load it had to be heard by passengers on the street. But it was good, really good, and Devil liked it. He would have never thought to be a fan of electronic music. But Keegan knew his shit about that genre.

"What's it called?"

"Ah, man, it's all in German, how would I know? The band's name starts with K, that's all I can tell you."

"Anyway, I like it."

"Glad to hear. Hey, take it, for sec" he passed Devil the joint back and scrambled to stand up and put another CD in the player. "Since you's always goin' on about how techno ain't got no soul, I'mma prove you wrong now. Check that out."

Devil took a deep drag, so deep his lungs started to burn, and released the smoke in a slow daze as it went straight to his head. The music started and he frowned. "Sounds boring, man."

"Just wait for it" Keegan said, "at about three minutes it really starts to pick up."

"Why in the hell would I listen to this bullshit and wait for the third minute to roll around, when I can listen to somethin' else that picks up in the very first fuckin' second?"

"Cause it's worth it, man, just wait for it."

Keegan cranked the volume even higher and planted himself on the floor next to Devil again, reaching a hand out for the joint. Then the music suddenly became slower, and the beat lessened, and Keegan tapped him on the arm. "Now, LISTEN."

And listen Devil did.

"Shit" he murmured. "That's awesome."

He closed his eyes and all he saw was the ocean, how he remembered it from his vacation to Myrtle Beach when he'd been a kid. He felt like he was being carried away by the music now, and it felt fucking amazing. But maybe it was just the weed.

Devil and Keegan simultaneously opened their eyes when they heard a door slam shut, and there Tanner stood, looking at them like they were crazy.

"The hell you doin'?!" He had to shout over the music.

"Shhh, this part is really good!" Keegan shouted back. Tanner rolled his eyes and walked over to the CD player pressing PAUSE. The music stopped abruptly. Keegan sat up with a frown. "Hey! We were listenin' to that."

"So I heard, along with the rest of Frankfort, man" Tanner shot back.

"Hey man, ain't seen you in some time" Devil said and waved at him a little. It had to have looked a bit funny because Tanner stared at them and asked, "How much did you smoke?"

"I dunno" Devil frowned and looked to Keegan for help. "How much did we smoke, man?"

"I dunno" Keegan answered. "How much?"

"Too much, maybe" Tanner said and took the joint from Devil's fingers. He took a drag himself and raised his brows, coughing a little. "Jesus, Keegan, who sold you this shit?"

"Some guy with a beard, he was wearin' a funny hat…"

Keegan and Devil dissolved into fits of giggles. Tanner sighed and put the joint out. "No more weed for the two of you."

"I'm hungry" Keegan said and stood up. Devil looked at Tanner and finally understood that it wasn't a normal occurrence for him to stand there in the middle of the CAG flat, in Frankfort.

"Hey" he said, "the hell you doin' here? I thought you had shit to do in Harlan."

"Yeah, well" Tanner stated, "and I thought you had shit to do here, but turns out you're just busy gettin' high and listenin' to music."

"I would have shit to do, but I ain't seen Quarles in like two weeks. And it's Saturday."

Devil sat up and stretched.

"Anyway" Tanner said and slumped down on the sofa, looking at Devil. "Shit's goin' on in Harlan, and I may have messed up a bit here and there, and now I'm just here lookin' for people, you know, makin' visits and shit."

"Whatever, man. It's just nice to see you." Devil blinked. "What shit, though? How'd you mess up?"

"Well, see, Crowder's been arrested-"

"What?"

"He's been arrested for blowin' up the Sherriff's car-"

"Boyd blew up Napier's car?"

"Would you let me finish, brother. Jesus. Crowder got arrested for blowin' up Napier's car, but he didn't do it, I did. We just needed Crowder out the way for the Sherriff's election. Can you believe it, Crowder's supportin' Shelby, good ol' Shelby from the mines, as a candidate 'gainst Napier. But because I didn't wait long enough to set off the charges for Napier's tastes, the bastard don't wanna pay me. Man, I hate that slimey dick."

Devil scrambled to follow Tanner's declarations. Well, if Boyd was in jail, it certainly explained why he couldn't answer Devil's calls. Shit. Boyd hadn't done it, was actually innocent for once, but what good did it do him if he was up against the goddamn Sherriff himself? And Devil was stuck in fucking Frankfort, of all places, and couldn't do shit about it. But maybe, Devil thought, Boyd's Marshal friend would help him. Devil could never understand whether they were friends or enemies when they met. Givens always said how he disliked Boyd, but he put up with Boyd's shit with a patience that usually only Ava and Johnny possessed. And Boyd, he always greeted the Marshal with open arms and a big smile that was never entirely honest, but always genuine, if that even made sense. Boyd could pull that off. And the Marshal put up with it. Devil didn't get it.

He was still seriously considering calling Ava tonight, to hear what was going on down there. Before he'd left their relationship had been quite tense, but the way Tanner had described it, it all sounded rather one-dimensional, and Devil was aware that he couldn't ask too many questions because, as his fogged up brain recalled, he was supposed to hate Boyd now. Asking how he was didn't contribute much in the matter of keeping up that façade.

Tanner didn't stay long, but him and Devil chatted a bit about old times and did end up sharing the strong weed that Keegan had procured somewhere, while Keegan himself had come up with the idea of cooking a feast and stayed in the kitchen for an entire three hours. When Tanner left, he put a hand on Devil's shoulder and said, "It was good to see you, brother. I'm really glad you're doin' okay here."

"Good to see you, too" Devil said and then, for some reason he couldn't fathom, felt compelled to add, "Watch yourself, huh?"

Tanner shrugged. "I'm doin' my best."

Devil had a notion it might not be enough.

* * *

Wynn Duffy sent him a text early the next day and told him to meet him at the pet store, with a full tank and ready for a trip. Devil didn't think it would be a joyous one, but he went anyway. He just hoped it would be over quick, because he didn't feel all that great and actually just wanted to stay in bed (Nina's bed, to be exact) all day and be lazy.

When Devil drove onto the huge parking lot next to the Walmart Supercenter, he didn't even get the chance to start looking for a space because Wynn Duffy and his bodyguard Mike just hopped into his truck (Duffy in the passenger's seat, Mike in the back) without asking.

"Good morning, Mr. Devil!" Wynn Duffy said with a cheer that seemed entirely inappropriate for Devil. It was barely 9 am, and Devil had a headache, and he was pissed.

"So what the hell's goin' on, huh?" he said in stead of a greeting. "Where are we goin', and why?"

"Well, someone's in a mood today" Duffy said. "We're having a little road trip today, actually, and our destination will be the Palmer Park in Madison."

"Madison…?"

"Madison, Alabama."

"What!" Devil couldn't believe it. "You honestly want me to drive to fuckin' Alabama, now?"

"Now's good a time as any, Mr. Devil, don't you think? The weather is beautiful, and I have to pick something up down there. It's only a five-hour-drive, you think your car can manage that?"

"What the hell do you need to pick up in a sports park in Alabama, man?"

"You'll see when we get there, 'man'. Now, drive. Come on, we don't have all day."

"Apparently we do, because it's gonna take all fuckin' day" Devil argued, and Duffy waved a hand at him.

"It's just a saying. Drive, for God's sake!"

Devil obeyed with a deep-set frown and a sigh. His headache got worse, and he just knew this day was going to suck, majorly.

Wynn Duffy was right about one thing, though: The weather really was perfect. It was sunny, but not too hot, and there was a comfortable breeze blowing. Devil watched a few lone clouds being carried away by the wind as he pulled onto Lawrenceburg Road. The pleasant climate did nothing to brighten his mood. Now he'd be stuck on the road all damn day with Wynn Duffy and his henchman instead of chilling at home with Nina. And then he tripped over the fact that he'd just called Nina's flat "home", because he'd just moved in there, and more importantly, because it was a place in Frankfort, and Frankfort, no matter how long he'd been there (which ran up to two months now), would never, should never, COULD never be "home" to him, because he hated it and didn't belong here. Devil wasn't in Frankfort because he wanted to be here, but because he had to. That couldn't just change.

Wynn Duffy made a few failed attempts at conversation, then turned on the CD player, which ended up with Prodigy (who Devil had taken a serious liking to) blasting out of the speakers, and Duffy jerking back in surprise.

"What the hell are you listening to?" he asked disgustedly. Devil shrugged.

"Prodigy. I like it."

"Jesus Christ" Duffy murmured and switched to radio, choosing a channel that played popular music. The volume turned on low, it was a kind of comforting background noise, and they drifted into silence again, until they crossed the border to Tennessee. When they passed the Welcome Station, the radio started acting up, bursting in and out of static. Wynn Duffy started turning buttons, even tried to turn it off. Devil almost told him not to bother, but it was kinda funny to watch Duffy fiddle with it to no avail, getting quite frustrated in the process.

At some point, though, the static started hurting Devil's head, and he wished for silence. Duffy let up at some point.

"What the hell's wrong with your radio, Mr. Devil?" he asked.

"Nothin'" Devil just answered and tried to concentrate on the road. After another fifteen minutes of that treatment he rolled his eyes, seriously getting fed up with it.

"Lewis, knock it off!" he yelled, punching the dashboard. The radio lapsed into momentary silence.

"You named your car Lewis?" Duffy asked, raising a brow.

"No."

"Then who's Lewis?"

"Cousin."

"You have a cousin named Lewis?"

"I did. S'an Army Ranger, then Delta Force."

"So you named your car after your cousin? How moving."

"The truck ain't got no name."

"Then why'd you call it Lewis?"

"I didn't call it Lewis." Devil rolled his eyes.

"But you just said to the radio, 'knock it off, Lewis'."

"I's talkin' to Lewis."

"Your cousin Lewis" Wynn Duffy clarified.

"Yeah."

"And he's here?"

"Not quite."

"Well, where is he, if you're talkin' to him?" Duffy started sounding impatient.

"He's dead."

"Oh. I'm… sorry to hear."

"Died in this truck." The radio started acting up again.

"Jesus" Mike murmured from the back seat.

"Oooooookay" Wynn Duffy said slowly. "And now he's… haunting the car."

"It's complicated" Devil sighed, turning the radio off. It stayed silent for about three seconds before turning itself on again. Devil gave a shake of the head in resignation, and Duffy didn't touch anything in the truck for the rest of the drive. They passed through an area of Tennessee in direct follow-up to the conversation about Lewis that seemed to consist entirely of cemeteries, and that didn't help any to settle Duffy and Mike's unease.

After an excruciating 5 and a half hours, they finally arrived at the Palmer Park in Madison. Making a right turn from Palmer Road, Devil's truck entered the park grounds, and they passed the batting cages that were currently occupied only by three persons, two of whom appeared to be kids.

"Alright now" Devil said, halting at the first gateway that led to the UpperQuad baseball fields. "Where to?"

"Further, you need to drive further" Duffy said, checking something on his phone. "The, uh... shit, everything's upside down on this map. The… International Field 6, that's where we wanna be. I think it's for soccer."

"Yeah, well, that ain't hardly helpful."

"The parking lot behind the International Field 6, that's where we need to go. Just drive further into the park, right to the other end of it."

Devil complied and drove through the park at a slow pace. There were a lot of great parking lots, all only scarcely occupied. The baseball and soccer fields they drove by were almost completely deserted; the football field seemed to be the place where most of the action took place today. Devil drove around the spacious parking lot attached to the field and passed a small kiddie playground, and then there were only two ways to go: Drive further ahead and land in the middle of the LowerQuad baseball fields, or turn right. Devil opted for door number two and made a right turn, and Duffy didn't correct him.

It landed them in that part of Palmer Park that was completely and utterly deserted. Not one living human being was here. They could hear shouts from the football field echo in the distance, but other than that, there was only the occasional tweet of a bird and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. The parking lot Devil's truck rolled onto was the smallest, and it was empty, save for one lone car.

It was a Ford Mustang GT, as far as Devil could tell, and of a dark color, but it was covered in so much reddish dust from the baseball fields that it had to have stood here for quite some time. Devil wondered what the hell they were doing here. He was about to ask Duffy whether they'd taken a wrong turn somewhere, but Duffy beat him to it.

"And here we are" he said and opened the passenger's side door before Devil had shut off the engine. Him and Mike followed Duffy as he walked to the Mustang, a hopelessly ugly car, as far as Devil was concerned. This one was old, too, and beat up and dirty, and the rear screen had a big crack going through it, almost from one side to the other. One front tire looked a little deflated. And it smelled bad. All things considered, Devil thought, this was one big pile of shit.

"Please tell me we didn't drive all the fuckin' way here just to pick up this piece of shit" he said, and Wynn Duffy shook his head.

"No, no, that's not what we're here for. What I want to pick up is not the car. It's in the car."

"Huh?"

"It's inside the car" Duffy explained. "In the trunk, if I'm not mistaken. A suit case."

Another goddamn suit case, Devil thought.

"So." Wynn Duffy looked to Devil. "Open the trunk, please."

"Hell nah" Devil said and took a step back. "I ain't openin' the trunk."

"And why the hell not?"

"You seen 'The Hangover'? I don't want no Chinaman's balls in my face."

"Oh, for Christ's sake" Duffy muttered and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Mike, open it."

Mike pulled a face. "And what if there's actually a naked guy in there who's gonna jump in my face?"

"Then I'll take a picture. Now, open it, for God's sake!"

Mike the bodyguard didn't look too happy with his job, but he stepped up to the trunk and put his hands on it nonetheless. For a moment they all seemed to listen closely to any possible noises from the trunk, just in case there was actually someone in there. It was an abandoned car in the middle of nowhere and connected to criminal machinations of the Dixie Mafia; in Devil's opinion it wasn't even that far-fetched. The smell was terrible, also, rotten and decayed. Maybe there HAD been someone in the trunk, and they were dead now?

Mike took a deep breath and then just popped the trunk open, and a wave of the disgusting stench engulfed him for a few seconds, but all there was in it was, in fact, a suit case. It wasn't a small black business one, like the one Devil and Funny had delivered to Arthur Herk, either, it was a bigger one, brown and relatively new, for travelling. Mike lifted it out of the trunk, and it seemed to be quite heavy.

"Well, there we go" Wynn Duffy said and nodded. "That's about it, I guess we can go now."

"What. That was it?" Devil snorted. "You serious? I drive through all of Kentucky and Tennessee, to this shithole of a park, waste masses of time and gas, just so you can pick up one lone fuckin' suit case out of the trunk of a Mustang that smells like rotting corpses?"

"Yes, I am serious, Mr. Devil. Now get in the car, and we'll be home for dinner."

"It does smell pretty bad" Mike said. Devil walked around the car and peered through the grimy window into the back seat. He couldn't see anything, the layer of dust was too thick, and the glass was almost foggy with it. Trying the handle of the front door, it opened – and Devil stumbled back, almost tripping over himself when he saw the source of the smell lying in the back seat.

"Holy fuckin' shit" he rasped out, covering mouth and nose with an arm. There was a body in there, it had to have been laying there so long it was hardly recognizable as human now. Duffy looked into the car, as well, a napkin held to his face to stop the worst of the smell, and he frowned.

"Well, well, well" he said lowly. "That was not part of the agreement." Duffy righted himself and looked at Devil who was trying really hard not to vomit from the smell.

"I think we need to leave right now, Mr. Devil" he said seriously. "Come on, into the car. Mike, wipe your prints off the trunk, and Mr. Devil's prints off the door. Hurry."

Devil climbed into his truck, still gagging as he started up the engine. He'd never experienced such a strong stench of decay. The body had looked like one of those dried-out, dug-up corpses they showed on "Forensic Files" sometimes. Devil had never seen anything like it with his own eyes, and he wished now he hadn't had to. Stupid him just had to go and open the fucking door to see where the smell came from.

Mike hopped into the back seat then and Duffy told him to step on it. The radio stayed quiet now, and Devil had the inkling that maybe Lewis hadn't meant to be annoying, but had just tried to warn him. Not that it worked, but Devil still appreciated the sentiment.

* * *

I know there's not THAT much going on in this chapter, and (Spoiler Alert) it won't change much in the next one, but they're still very important for the plot.

I do love "The Hangover" with all my heart, and that scene where Ken Jeong jumps out of the trunk naked and directly into Bradley Cooper's face is one of the most epic scenes of the movie, and one of the most famous "WTF?"-moments in movie history. I just had to mention it somehwere.

The second song Keegan and Devil listen to, the one that only picks up at minute 3, is "Saltwater" by Chicane. It's absolutely amazing. The first one is "Sonnentanz" by Klangkarussel, also really amazing, but of course it didn't exist yet when this story happened... so bear with me. Shit happens, and the music is awesome.

And on another note, my internship is cool, and I've discovered that Joel McHale is not only hilarious, but also looks ravishing in aviators. Oh well. What else is new?


	13. Chapter 13

This chapter is, again, not one full of action. But it is a very sad one. I think you can guess why. With Tanner telling Devil about Boyd being arrested in the last chapter, well, you might remember what happened shortly thereafter.

There's mentioning of Lewis Lennox again, who is not my character; he rightfully belongs to TellatrixForever and I am only using this character for the purpose of this chapter. Also the moniker 'Wynnebago' was TellatrixForever's idea, not mine.

WARNINGS: Character death.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 13

* * *

It was in the evening hours that Devil made it back to Nina's, dropping off Duffy and Mike at the Walmart Supercenter where they'd parked the car they'd come with.

"Why didn't you just park your Wynnebago here?" Devil asked when he pulled onto Leonardwood Drive. Wynn Duffy looked at him blankly.

"My what?"

"Your motor coach. I christened it Wynnebago, with a 'y'" Devil explained, shrugging, and Mike sniggered in the back seat.

"That's quite the joke, Mr. Devil" Duffy said. "You can let us out here, thank you."

Devil halted at the side of the street and Duffy and Mike climbed out of his truck. Before closing the door, Duffy leant in a last time.

"Now, I know it's probably redundant to say, but I would like for you to keep silent about what you saw today. I have no idea where the hell that body came from, so as far as I'm concerned, this never happened. Are we clear?"

Devil gave him a mock salute. "Got it."

"Good" Wynn Duffy nodded and slammed the door shut. "Have a nice ride home."

"Sure."

"Thanks for the ride, man" Mike said and gave a little wave, and Devil nodded in answer. As soon as the two of them were off the street and walking over to their car, he made a u-turn on the street, earning some angry honking from other traffic participants, and made it home in as little time as possible. His head was really killing him now, and although he had not eaten anything since the slice of toast this morning, he was not in the least bit hungry. Devil was just exhausted after another day of being non-stop on the road.

Arriving at Nina's place, Devil was certain he'd placed his truck in two parking spaces at once, but he was so tired he couldn't be bothered with it. The stairs seemed to never end, but then, they actually did, and Devil just knocked on the door, pressing his forehead against it so that he almost fell face first into the flat when Nina opened the door and he barely managed to catch himself.

"Devil?" Nina said and sighed. "What's it now?"

"Nothin', babe. Jus' tired. I think I gotta go to bed."

Devil yawned into her face, and Nina slapped him on the arm for it. "Devil, it's not even nine yet."

"Don' care. Gotta sleep."

"Oh… okay then. I'll join you in an hour, maybe. Gotta get up early tomorrow."

"Mmhmh." Devil barely managed to take off his shoes and pants before dropping onto the bed and drifting off. Nina made good on her promise to join him and cuddled against him at 10 pm, and they slept soundly, until about 3 o'clock in the morning, when Devil fell terribly ill.

Devil woke up to an excruciating pain in his stomach. He sat up slowly, and the room swam, almost like it had after he'd been shot. Running to the bathroom, he made it just in time to lose his sparse stomach contents into the toilet, and his stomach cramped like hell. He groaned loudly and hurled again, and again. At some point he sensed more than saw Nina crouch next to him, a hand on his back, the other feeling his forehead.

"Christ Almighty" she murmured, voice still rough from sleep. "Devil, what the fuck?"

"I…" Devil threw up again, and it felt like someone stabbed him in the side with a knife. "I ain't got no idea what this is" he forced out. "It hurts, jus'… shit."

"Well, you don't have a fever, so there's that. Where exactly does it hurt?"

"Stomach" Devil sighed and rested his head on the toilet seat.

"Where in your stomach?"

"Left side…"

"Mh, well, it don't seem like appendicitis, or it woulda been on the right side…" Nina yawned heartily. "But you're sick, I guess. Caught somethin', maybe? I sure as hell don't know where you're roamin' all day long."

"Nina, seriously" Devil groaned. "Now's not the time to have this conversation."

"Is it ever?" Nina said, but laid her hand on the back of his neck gently when he threw up again. "Jesus, baby, slow down, you're gon' lose one of your kidneys or somethin'."

"I can't exactly" Devil swallowed, "control it, y'know."

"Yeah, I know." Nina blinked at the clock on the wall. "Shit, I gotta get up in two hours…"

"You can go to bed, it's alright" Devil tried, but it didn't sound convincing to his own ears.

"Bullshit" Nina said and shook her head. "I ain't leavin' you alone in that condition. Maybe I'll call in for one of 'em leave days I got collected like a crazy person. It ain't a big deal, really, I hoard 'em."

"No, you don' hafta…" Devil forgot what he'd wanted to say when another wave of nausea overwhelmed him. Tears ran down his face, but he was too miserable to feel even remotely embarrassed about it. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten this sick.

"Babe, I think you need to wait outside for a sec" Devil said when he was finished throwing up for the moment.

"Why?"

"Cause I think it's comin' out the other end now, too."

"Oh, that's just awesome" Nina said and stood up. "I'mma get the disinfectant."

"Good idea."

Devil didn't get better as the morning progressed, and Nina ended up taking the day off from work, taking care of Devil, first forcing him to eat, then giving that up when the food came out both ends only minutes later. Devil realized at some point in the afternoon that this was some serious shit. He spent the beginning of the day in the bathroom, not daring to move away from the toilet, and the reminder of it on the couch, with a bucket next to his head, taking tiny little sips from a glass of water, tiny enough that he didn't have to throw them up again. Nina made a trip to the nearest pharmacy, getting him some sublingual nausea and diarrhea meds that helped a little, but tasted vile.

It was in the early evening hours, and Nina had made Devil some tea and tried to convince him to drink it, which he flat-out refused, not only because he hated tea, but also because he just didn't have any energy left to throw up. He felt about ready to curl up and die. Nina sighed in resignation when Devil just pulled the blanket over his head. She sat the cup on the low couch table.

"Okay then, have it your way. At least sip the water, alright? I hope this passes quickly, or I'mma have to take you to the hospital."

"You can forget that right now" Devil's muffled voice sounded from under the blanket.

"No, I ain't forgettin' that now! You ain't eaten anythin' in over a day, and you can't really keep fluids down either, this is dangerous… oh, Jesus, who am I kiddin'? I ain't talkin' to you while you're hidin' under a blanket like a four-year-old."

Devil heard her steps lead away, and then a door slammed, presumably the one to the bathroom. Since this morning, Nina had cleaned the toilet so often she could most likely eat from it now, and although Devil understood that whatever this was he had could very likely be contagious, Nina's behavior suggested that she was a little more freaked out by germs than was strictly necessary. Better this way than the other way around, Devil thought and shuddered under the blanket. He still didn't have a fever, but he was freezing nonetheless.

Devil was close to drifting off a while later when the doorbell rang, and it shocked him awake. Nina, who'd been sitting on a cushion on the floor, leaning back against the couch, stood up and Devil watched her cautiously near the door and look through the spy. She turned back to him with a frown.

"Do you know some guy who looks a bit like Jesus? Because if not, I'm callin' the cops."

"It might be Keegan" Devil said, confused as to why Keegan would show up here, instead of calling him. Then Devil remembered that his cell phone lay on silent in the bedroom and getting it had seemed like too much of an effort, so even if Keegan had tried to reach him, Devil wouldn't have known.

"Okay, so… should I let him in?" Nina asked.

"Yeah, I guess. If he shows up here, it might be important."

Hence Nina complied and opened the door, and it actually was Keegan who stood there in the hallway. Felicity slipped past him and jumped on the couch, seating herself on the backrest and looking at the intruder. Devil looked at him, too, and immediately noticed the red-rimmed eyes and tear stains on Keegan's face. He sat up as straightly as he could, which really came down to him leaning heavily on one elbow.

"What the fuck happened?" Devil asked anxiously. Keegan stepped in and Nina closed the door behind him, looking disturbed.

"Tanner" Keegan said shakily and sniffed. An uncomfortable weight settled in Devil's stomach, more uncomfortable than all the vomiting he'd done today.

"What about Tanner?" he asked impatiently. Keegan sniffed again, and his face contorted with grief.

"Tanner's dead" he said.

Devil blinked dumbly. "What… do you mean, he's… dead? He was here just two days ago!"

"I know, but, he's dead, man, Tanner's dead."

"What… I mean… how… what happened?"

"He…" Keegan shook his head. "Apparently he stood on a landmine."

"What?" Devil frowned. "Are you shittin' me?"

"No, man, I jus' know what his momma told me on the phone, an' she said he stood on a landmine an' he jus'… blew u-up." Keegan's voice broke on the last word.

"What the FUCK was he doin' standin' on a landmine?" Devil asked, stunned. He couldn't quite grip what Keegan was telling him.

"I dunno, man. I jus' don't know. But he's dead and I…" Keegan frowned. "Are you alright, man? You look like shit…"

Devil snorted and felt some kind of big emotion well up inside him, and he did not like that at all. It felt like some kind of desperation, too big for him to handle right at this moment. "No, I'm not fuckin' alright, man. I spend all night and day pukin' my brains out, and then YOU come and tell me that Tanner got blown up by a fuckin' landmine, of all things… man, no, I'm not alright."

Devil swallowed and covered his eyes with a hand. This could not be real.

"I… I'm sorry, Devil" Keegan murmured. "I jus'… I'mma leave now, I didn't know you're sick, I jus'… thought you should know. I… uhm, bye."

Devil didn't respond, nor open his eyes. He just heard Keegan tell a stunned Nina a quiet "Sorry, I didn't wanna intrude or somethin', I jus'… bye", and then the door of the flat opened and closed. Suddenly the apartment was in total silence, and only then did Devil hear his own breathing and how ragged it sounded, and he realized belatedly that he was crying.

Nina crouched down in front of him and put one hand in his hair gently. "Devil?" she asked carefully. "Who's Tanner?"

"A… friend" Devil said, even though the term didn't exactly sum it up adequately. He thought of how Tanner used to call him brother, and his stomach scrunched up so tightly he thought he would throw up again. "I've known… him all my life."

Nina kissed his forehead and sighed. "I'm so, so, SO sorry, Devil."

Her kindness was what broke all the dams; Devil tried to hold it back, but he started sobbing. His chest felt like it was being torn apart, it was an actual physical pain that had him losing his breath and start gagging. He grabbed the bucket, but nothing came out save for a few strings of bile. Nothing made any sense. Devil and Tanner had met each other in Middle School, and they'd lost contact through-out the years, but sometimes they'd re-connect, go drinking together, talk shit, and it had been a comforting knowledge for Devil in the back of his head that Tanner would always be there, just a call or a text away. And now he just wasn't, and it didn't make any sense.

Devil tried to work through this forest of warring emotions, and he hated it, because since when was he so goddamn emotional? When his mom had left him, he'd been too young to understand, and when he'd been old enough, the grief didn't come, just anger. When him and his daddy had their big fall-out, Devil hadn't felt like crying, just like destroying things. When Lewis had died so suddenly, he had been in too much of a shock. And now, he was here, in Frankfort, Kentucky, and killed people and suddenly his emotions threatened to overwhelm him almost all the damn time; he was in this fucked-up situation, and he'd never been the emotional type, never one to cry, always the one to make others cry. The truth was: Devil did have feelings about all the fucked-up situations he'd already been in. He HAD felt like crying when his father told him to never come back. He just hadn't done it. And when he was finally old enough to understand what his mother had done, he HAD wanted to cry, for it was just so goddamn unfair.

But for all the crying Devil would have wanted to do, he'd never done it. It was like he hadn't even known he COULD cry until he'd come to Frankfort and killed these people and then lost someone he had never thought would die. It all came crashing together over his head, and he got so upset it took him hours to calm down again. Nina stayed with him the entire time, and she didn't say anything, either, which Devil was thankful for; she didn't even try to talk his worries small, she just sat with him and said "it's okay, it's gonna be okay" from time to time. Devil felt a little like an idiot, letting himself be babied by her like that, but he reckoned that, with Nina, it was too late to be embarrassed, anyway, because when they'd met for the very first time, she'd seen him at one of his lowest points, and she'd taken him home with her still.

When Devil did calm down, Nina convinced him to try and take a shower, which made Devil feel a bit better, and to go to bed. A bucket next to the bed, just to be sure, and a glass of water on the nightstand, Nina seated herself next to him with a book and promised she'd be there when he woke up. From experience Devil knew that to be true. It still took him a long time to fall asleep.

* * *

"I'm glad you outta prison, Boyd."

"Well, I'm right glad about it, too, son. I saw you tried to call me, I'm sorry I couldn't respond."

"Yeah, well, I, you know, I wondered if somethin' was up cause you didn't answer, but the shit that went down, I had no idea."

"How much do you know, son?"

"Tanner came by… he, uh, he told me… some shit."

"When did he come by?"

"… Saturday?"

"Devil, I heard about what happened to him, and I know, despite all the animosity I held for him for what he did, that Tanner was your friend. I am truly sorry for your loss."

"…"

"Tell me, how are you doin'?"

"What do you think, Boyd? I feel like shit. I… I got sick two days ago, I still can't eat any solid food without pukin' my guts out, an' then I hear bout Tanner, jus'…"

"…I'm sorry, Devil, really I am, to hear you suffer so bad. But, do allow me the one pressin' question I need to ask you."

"I think I know what you wanna ask, Boyd, but, just go ahead."

"Wynn Duffy."

"Yeah."

"The pimp he wanted you to kill? The woman?"

"Yeah."

"Devil, did you do it?"

"Yeah, and that's all I'm gonna say."

"Devil…"

"Boyd, just shut the fuck up about it. I ain't gon' talk about it. I did it, and that's that."

"Alright, son, as you wish."

"Now I'mma need to ask you somethin'."

"Well, ask away."

"Do you know what happened to Tanner? I mean, I know he… I… I know HOW he died, okay, but I wanna know the fuck WHY."

"I'm not sure it would help you to know the details, son, trust me, not where you are right now."

"So you sayin' it got somethin' to do with Quarles."

"No, Devil, that ain't what I'm sayin'. I'm just tryin' to tell you that no matter the reason, as hard as it is to face this, Tanner is dead, and he's gon' stay that way. I think you need time to work this through. You're sick, you're mournin', and I don't even know every detail about it."

"I think it's for me to judge how much time I need to work shit through, so just fuckin' tell me what you know, alright?"

"…Alright. Well, I know it was him, blew up Napier's car, and that they pulled this scam to get me behind bars and prevent me from helpin' out Shelby with his campaign. Apparently, Tanner wanted to get his money back from the man he'd bought the explosives of. You remember Lemuel Becket?"

"Course I do. Only guy I know who loves blowin' shit up more'n you do."

"Loved, Devil, past tense. Lemuel's dead, as well."

"Wha… shit. Did… was he killed?"

"Shot in the chest."

"Did Tanner…?"

"Most likely. That's all I know, Devil, I swear to you. I can't tell you no more."

"It's… alright, Boyd. I jus' thought it… don't matter, forget it."

"Let me guess, you thought it would make you feel better to know what caused it?"

"I said, forget it, Boyd."

"There's only so much I can try to forget, Devil, but you're right, it's for you to judge and for me to try and support you. You can call me anytime you wanna talk, I hope you know that."

"You worried about me? Cause, well, you don't really have to, you know, there are people here, worry bout me enough as it is. You know I'm good at makin' friends."

"Yes, I am quite aware you are, and I can't say I ain't exceptionally glad to hear you say that. But my offer still stands."

"Shame your offer don't include me comin' home."

"Not now, Devil, trust me, it's a bad idea to even consider it. I put you in a very disadvantageous situation when I sent you away, I am only truly realizin' that in present time. Right now you're in the lion's den, and you cannot escape it without gettin' ripped to pieces, son."

"The fuck you talkin' bout, Boyd? I ain't seen Quarles in two weeks!"

"Just believe me when I say that you can't turn your back to this lunatic of a man in my favor. Me and Quarles, we got some dealings to take care of between one another, and if he found out you and I played him, he's gon' be more outraged than I am comfortable lettin' him be, considerin' you're in his reach and missin' from mine."

"Boyd, Jesus. What did you do?"

"Well, let's just say, Shelby bein' the new Sheriff was not what Quarles had planned for, and now he might be lookin' for some kind of ways to pay me back what I, from his point of view, deserve."

"Okay, so… you think if Quarles knows you and I are still acquainted, he's gon' kill me… yeah, I think he probably would. 'Kay then, I'll just, uh, stay here for the time bein', huh? Hold still in the lion's den and shit?"

"In all likelihood, I think that would be in both our best interests. I certainly am comfortable knowin' you've already found yourself alliances to lean on in these hazardous times."

"I sure did, Boyd. Sure did."

* * *

A day after his long talk with Boyd, Devil was lying on the couch, watching TV while Nina was at work. It was noon, and he was able to nibble at a piece of toast and not throw it back up again, which was a huge success. It was just toast, but solid food was solid food, and Devil guessed that meant he was getting better again. He still felt like shit and slept a lot. But he remembered that from his gunshot wound, and that the sleepiness would pass after he recuperated, which in this case equaled him being able to eat again. Toast was the first step in the right direction.

His cell phone, lying on the living room table, vibrated for the fifth time today, not counting the eight times it had rang the day before. Every time it had been a call or text from a suppressed number that had to be Wynn Duffy. The first text had, like always, been a time and a place (the pet store in the Walmart Supercenter), and the initials WD. Devil just ignored it. The second text came two hours later, and it said, "Where the fuck are you?", which made Devil snort a quiet laugh. The rest of the messages were a mix of "What the fuck is going on"s and "Contact me"s and "Are you still alive"s. The last one made Devil want to just answer "NO", but he refrained and wrote "Piss off" instead.

Devil sighed when the incessant buzzing of his phone seriously started annoying him. He didn't want to turn it off, though, in case Boyd or Keegan or anyone else actually important to him wanted to reach him. He hadn't seen Keegan in four days, but he knew the guy was mourning, too. On the very first day Devil had met Keegan, when he was still in total shock from the night before, the gunshot wound, his almost dying in Johnny's bar, Keegan had told him that Tanner was his friend. Apparently they had been in regular contact with each other, talking on the phone every other day. Hence, while for Devil the gap Tanner had left behind felt gigantic enough, for Keegan it had to be the size of the Grand Canyon. Therefore, Devil wanted to be in reach, in case Keegan needed anyone to talk to. He wasn't the big talker, had never been, but he'd found out that, in order to comfort someone, sometimes it was best to just keep silent anyway.

The buzzing let off, and started again a minute later, and Devil resigned and looked at it: Yes, suppressed number. Whatever, Devil thought. Better answer him now than have him show up here. So he picked it up this time.

"What."

"Mr. Devil, is that you?"

"Nah, it's my evil twin brother. Lucifer. The fuck you think this is?"

"You certainly didn't lose your interesting sense of humor, so that's good to hear. May you wanna explain to me why you didn't pick up your phone, nor show up to the meetings I've arranged, nor answered any of my texts save for a single 'piss off'?"

"Nope. Don't feel like explainin' shit to you. Just say what you want."

"Easy enough, I want to talk to you."

"We're talkin' now, ain't we."

"In person, please."

"Ain't happenin'. I'm sick as a dog, spent the last three days in the bathroom, if you know what I mean. I ain't goin' nowhere, and just so you know, you ain't comin' nowhere, either."

Wynn Duffy seemed to consider this for a few seconds. "Does this illness of yours have anything to do with the demise of one Tanner Dodd?"

Devil clenched his jaw. "No, it don't. Time just got a funny way of screwin' me over."

"Well, in any case, I've heard somewhere you and him were friends, and I'm sor-"

"I've had enough of that. Yeah, I'm sorry bout it, too. Quit it." Devil was too exhausted for this talk. He'd had Nina tell him she was sorry for his loss, and Boyd, and he'd even received a text from Funny, and he was over that. Telling someone you were sorry for their loss didn't make anything better; it just reminded that someone that there was a loss to be sorry for. He didn't need it, he didn't want it, and most certainly not from Wynn fucking Duffy.

"Okay then, Mr. Devil. I understand. It wasn't that important anyway, I'll just send someone else. We'll be in contact."

Duffy hung up, and Devil blinked at the phone in disbelief: Wynn Duffy had never hung up on him before. It was quite confusing. Not confusing enough for Devil to think on it much, though. He just put the phone back on the table and hoped that everything would indeed be fine, just like Nina had promised him.

* * *

With chapter 13, the end is, well, not close, but in sight. And with the next chapter, the action picks up again, I swear.

Now, one other thing: About Devil's sudden illness. I didn't just do that because I love whump (which I do) and to bide some time (which I do try to avoid), but to show how much being in Frankfort and having to go through all that shit wears on him. It could be anything he contracted, but my thinking was that, emotionally exhausted as he is, his body's defences are weakened, as well. Poor thing!


	14. Chapter 14

So, this is chapter 14. And NOW we are really nearing the end here, fellas. It's sorta surreal, to think about being this close to finishing something I've been busy with for almost three months, ain't it?

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. The end may be near, but it's not there yet. As I promised, there's more action in this chapter again. Also, mentioning of Lewis Lennox, an OC that you might remember does not belong to me, but rightfully belongs to TellatrixForever and I'm only using this OC for the purpose of this chapter and (by now) story.

WARNINGS: None. No, I'm serious. No warnings today. (I feel like I've failed somehow, now that this chapter is actually somewhat PG. Although, still only somewhat. You must be accostumed to my choice of words by now.)

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 14

* * *

The next day, Devil felt sure enough to eat some scrambled eggs that Nina made him, and then he started to get better step by step, so that a week after Tanner's death he was almost back to a hundred percent. He still hadn't talked to Keegan. It was something he didn't necessarily look forward to, because, really, he'd faced his emotions enough to last a lifetime, or at least the next ten, fifteen years. But Keegan was Devil's friend, and wasn't that what friends did for each other? Be there and talk? It was what Boyd had offered him, so Devil felt obligated to offer it to Keegan in return. Hoping that Keegan wouldn't take him up on it was another matter entirely, and Devil didn't need to tell anyone about that.

It was still early in the morning, and Nina was just slipping on her jacket, getting ready to leave for work, when Devil, lying on the couch and drinking water (because coffee, as Nina had resolutely told him, was still forbidden), received a text. Nina stopped in her movement of bending down to pick up her purse and looked at him. She'd learned by now what it meant when Devil got a text: That he would be gone all day, and when he came back he'd be disturbed and couldn't talk about it.

"What is it?" she asked. Devil sighed.

"So it's somethin' you can't talk about?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome."

"Listen, Nina, I know it sucks. Just…"

"I know, I know, it's for your safety, and for mine. I'mma just go to work now."

"BYE!" he shouted after her when the door slammed shut. What a great way to start the day, he thought. Awake for less than an hour, and already the first fight. That was one of the reasons he'd forgone relationships this long, Devil remembered now. Chicks and their incessant dramas.

Grumbling about it, he opened the message. It was from a suppressed number, so Devil knew it had to be Duffy. He'd wondered when the suited bastard would contact him. But apparently Duffy had been serious when he'd said it wasn't that important. Maybe he'd even been serious when he'd said that he was sorry for Devil's loss. Devil wouldn't have put it past him to be lying about that sort of thing. Over the phone Devil could never tell whether Duffy was bullshitting him or not. It was hard enough to tell when they were sitting face to face.

The text said to meet Duffy in the pet store ASAP, with three exclamation marks behind it, which implied that it had to be REALLY urgent, because Devil had never seen Duffy use an exclamation mark in his texts, let alone three. Dragging himself to his feet, Devil stretched and wandered into the shower; as urgent as it may be, he thought, what needs time, needs time.

He didn't even take that long. Fourty minutes later he left the building to walk to his truck, and had to stop for a second, because, what the fuck was this? It was exactly the same weather and climate it had been on his very first day here, when he'd been delirious with fever and pain and had stumbled to Quarles's office: The sky was covered in thinning clouds, the whole atmosphere was hazy, the air was cool. But what threw Devil was not the uncomfortable déjà-vu feeling he got from it. It was this unbelievably strong sense that SOMETHING was totally, completely, essentially wrong. It was just a bad feeling, but of proportions Devil had never experienced before. He knew about an impending sense of doom, but this felt like so much more than that; everything he looked at just screamed "Wrong" at him: The sky, the street, the cars, the asphalt-covered ground. It all seemed strange and out of place, and for a moment, just one second, really, Devil was sucked back into his dream of the first night, of the puppets and Up-Less-World and the fear of not knowing who he was and where he belonged.

The moment was so short and gone so fast, but the memory was so strong Devil actually staggered. It had only been little more than two months ago, but these two months felt like a lifetime, and Devil had almost completely forgotten about that damn dream. He shook his head. It had just been a dream, he told himself, a dream and nothing more. Whatever fucked up bad feeling he had right now, it was imagination and left-over exhaustion from that disgusting stomach bug he'd caught. That had to be it. I'm seeing things, Devil told himself. Get over it already and get in the fucking car.

He almost convinced himself it was all in his imagination. Almost.

Fifty minutes after he'd received the text, he arrived at the Walmart Supercenter. It was Monday morning, and everybody had somewhere else to be, presumably work, so the parking lot was moderately empty and Devil chose a space close to the entrance. He sauntered over to the pet store, received the head-jerk in direction of the supply closet from petshop-Nina, opened the door, and Wynn Duffy almost jumped into his face.

"Where the FUCK were you?!" he semi-shouted. "I said ASAP! In what world is fifty minutes ASAP?!"

"Jesus, man, come on. I'm here now, ain't I."

"Yes, well, but NOW should have been half an hour ago!" Wynn Duffy combed one of his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down. "Mr. Devil" he started, more reserved this time, "this is a very important thing you have to do, and it is VERY, I cannot stress this enough, VERY important you get this right, do you understand me?"

"Yes" Devil snapped, already annoyed with him.

"And the reason why I needed you here as soon as possible is that, in approximately an hour Quarles will arrive in Frankfort, and he's gonna call you to help him go looking for something, and that something that you will be supposed to help him look for is money, a lot of money, and that money is something he cannot, under no circumstances, get his disgusting, pasty hands on, am I making myself clear?"

"What…" Devil frowned. "Then what d'you want me to do about it? Pretend I'm suddenly blinded?"

"No, Mr. Devil. I need you to go to the person Quarles is gonna get that money from, and tell them to get lost."

"Okay, Duffy, I'mma need a little more information than that, because you might think what you're sayin' makes sense, but it sounds to me like you're talkin' in riddles. Start from the beginnin', okay?"

"Okay." Duffy took a long breath and let it out slowly before explaining it to him, in a much more understandable pace.

"Robert Quarles is gonna arrive in Frankfort, and he will ask you to go with him to someone to pick up some money, a lot of money, that he desperately needs. You know that someone Quarles will pay a visit to. It's Mr. Shaun. Remember him?"

"Christ Almighty" Devil said. "Sure, I remember him."

"Good. You know the British dick sits on a shitload of cash, and Quarles wants it, and he's gonna try and take it from Shaun, forcefully if need be. He'll ask you along, because, the idiot that he is, he trusts you to have his back."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, I get that" Devil said. "Get to the part where I do somethin' about it."

"Right now, before Robert gets here and gives you a call, you will drive to Shaun's nice little cabin, and you'll tell him to fuck off."

"I what now?"

"You'll tell him to disappear" Duffy repeated. "After your first visit to his house, he never even talked to anybody about Granger and her whore house anymore, let alone bid for it, so I reckon he listens to what you say. So what you'll do is, you'll make the drive to Lawrenceburg, tell him to go into hiding for a little bit, not much, say, two weeks, because at the pace that Quarles is moving, he'll be dead by then, anyway, offed by your dear friend Crowder or that nice Marshal with the hat that I'm sure you've heard of before, or anyone else who might want a piece of him, of which there are quite a few people out there at the moment. Then" at this Duffy checked his watch, "you'll come back here and be there when Quarles wants you to come to the office, and you'll follow him back to Lawrenceburg like the compliant little money he thinks you are and pretend nothing's wrong. And you'll have to do all that in less than an hour, so I suggest you start now."

Devil blinked at him dumbly. The abandoned office chair that Duffy had to have been sitting in while waiting for him to arrive screamed "Wrong!" at him, as did the half-empty cupboards and shelves in the storage room. Even the light seemed wrong. This was starting to give him the creeps.

"I'm supposed to drive to Lawrenceburg and back in less than an hour?"

"And don't forget you actually have to talk to Shaun in between, that's gonna take some time, as well."

"That ain't hardly possible."

"Hardly, sure, but not impossible. If you hop into your nice, haunted ride now, you'll about just make it" Duffy said.

"Shit." Devil pinched his nose. A headache was already coming on from all this. "How in the hell am I gonna make the dickface listen to me, you think?"

"Just like you did the last time" Duffy shrugged.

"I shot him last time! I thought he was supposed to go into fuckin' hidin', how's he gonna do that with another bullet in his arm?"

"Oh. You shot him? Well, you do take your job seriously, Mr. Devil, I'll give you that." Duffy gnawed on his lower lip. "Well, then just threaten him, for God's sake, maybe you made enough of an impression on him he'll make a run for it as soon as you stand in front of him and wave your Beretta at his face. Or, the other possibility we haven't even considered is, maybe he'll listen to reason? Mr. Shaun's quite the smart asshole, he knows when to duck. If you get him to listen to you and you tell him that Quarles will go looking for him, he might believe you and get the fuck out of Lawrenceburg all by himself."

Devil shook his head. This was just unbelievable. "I don't know bout that" he murmured.

"Well, either way. Mr. Devil, I suggest you get going now. The longer we talk, the less time you got. Quarles is on his way, so come on, hurry. Off you go."

Devil rubbed his forehead. Well, what else was he supposed to do, but comply? It wasn't like he had anything better to do than sit in Nina's flat and watch TV all day. It didn't even sound like that much of a problem. The time issue was obviously a big one, but other than that, what could possibly go wrong?

"Alright then" Devil sighed and turned to the door. "I'm on my way."

He stopped, though, hand inches from the door handle away. "Hey" he said turning back to Duffy. "What's Quarles need that much money for?"

Duffy was in the process of brushing off his suit jacket like there was dirt on it and didn't look at him while speaking. "Oh, he wants to hide out in Noble's Holler, as far as I know. Some Detroit hitmen were looking for him, as well as dear Marshal Givens and Lord knows who else. Turns out though that the infamous Mr. Limehouse only lets women reside for free."

"He wants to HIDE?" Devil was confused. Detroit hitmen? Wasn't Quarles WORKING for Detroit? What the fuck was going on in Harlan? There was obviously still a great deal of shit that Boyd hadn't wanted to concern him with.

"Yes, that's what he wants to do. Anything else? No? Good. Then, hit the road, or you won't make it."

* * *

Devil was on the road to Lawrenceburg in no time. The radio blasted the Barenaked Ladies at him, but he was in no mood for something better. The amount of time it would take to drive to Shaun's villa and back was too much for Devil to keep to Duffy's schedule, he was sure of that. There was still the question whether Shaun would actually hear him out. Devil was in no mood to shoot the bastard again, and he most certainly was in no mood to be shot at, either.

The powerful sense of something being wrong impertinently accompanied him as he drove over Frankfort Road down south and hoped it would all be fine. He told himself he was being ridiculous, but, as insistently as he tried to tell himself that, he was never actually able to convince himself. The radio didn't act up, but it did continue to play trivial college rock, and Devil caught himself humming along to Third Eye Blind, and that was a bad omen if ever there was one, he thought.

Knowing he had too little time made him additionally nervous about the whole thing. His leg kept twitching, his fingers kept drumming on the steering wheel. He stepped on the gas pedal and prayed there would be no polies to catch him.

Bluebird Court was a quiet street with lots of big houses, although Shaun's villa was definitely the biggest one. Devil parked close to it, getting out. He felt the comforting weight of his Beretta on his lower back and hoped he didn't have to use it today. Not today, he thought. Wrong, the pavement seemed to shout at him. Shut up, he thought. It's starting to get old.

When he rang the doorbell and the housekeeper opened, she recognized him instantly and did the most stupid and annoying thing anyone could have done in this situation: She started screaming like a crazy person.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH! Nooooooooooooo! Not YOU again!"

Devil actually flinched back a little, because, really, that he hadn't expected.

"Mr. Shaun! MISTER SHAUN! It's HIM again!"

"Jesus Christ, will you SHUT UP!" Devil shouted back, and the housekeeper instantly turned quiet.

"Thank you. Now may I come in." He didn't wait for an answer, it hadn't been a question to begin with, and let himself in, closing the door. Devil was confident Shaun had heard someone arrive who his housekeeper didn't agree with. The entire street had, hell, maybe even this half of Kentucky had. And sure enough, Craig Allan Shaun entered the big foyer then, tapping barefoot on his marble floors, and sure enough he had his gun raised and pointed at Devil, chest level. Devil raised his hands in the air.

"Hey now" he carefully said. "I know we didn't exactly part on the best of terms, man, but hear me out, okay?"

"Why the fuck should I hear you out, wanker? You fucking shot me in my own house!" Shaun was shaking with rage, and he was nervous, too, Devil could see it. Most likely, he had the gun for protection, but he'd never used it before, or if he had, it was only once or twice. Good, Devil thought, now there are two people here who don't want to use their guns today.

"Yeah, I know, I know that weren't the nicest of moves, but trust me, it was for your own good" Devil started, but then cringed at himself for his poor choice of words. Shaun's nostrils flared.

"For my own good, yeah? Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Okay, that was stupid. Sorry. Just, lower your weapon, alright? I ain't here to hurt you, I swear, man, come on."

"I'm not doing shit" Shaun said. "So, if you're not here to hurt me, mate, what are you here for then?"

"I'm, well-"

"Did Duffy send you again? What does he want from me now, huh?"

"Uh, yeah, actually" Devil said slowly, "Duffy did send me. But it's… not really anythin' he wants from you, it's more of a, an, uhm, friendly warnin'."

Shaun snorted a laugh. "Bloody hell. How stupid do you think I am?"

"No, listen, come on, I don't have a shitload of time right now." Devil spread his arms wide out and aimed for the most sincere look he had to offer. "I'm sorry I shot you, okay, but I'm standin' here right now, and I'm, well, I ain't unarmed, cause how stupid would that be, but I don't have my gun in my hand, and I ain't goin' for it, I swear to you. I just wanna warn you, is all."

He saw Shaun frown at him and knew the man was, if not convinced, then at least suitably unsettled.

"Jacinta" he said and Devil realized he was talking to his housekeeper, who was still standing between them, still as a statue. "Would you please get back to doing the dishes."

"Sir?" She looked at him with big, scared eyes, and he nodded.

"I have this under control. Jacinta. Now."

She left then, albeit reluctantly, and Shaun turned his full attention back to Devil. "Go on."

"Look" Devil continued, "in less than an hour, Robert Quarles is gonna come bargin' in here, and he's gonna turn everythin' upside down and do things to you that are way worse than shootin' you in the arm and scarin' your housekeeper, you hear what I'm sayin'? He's gonna want all your money so he can buy himself some safety vacation down in Noble's Holler, and he's gonna take it, whether you wanna give it to him or not, and, man, if I were you, I'd be gettin' the hell outta Dodge right about fuckin' now."

Now Shaun really looked uneasy, and his gun was lowering.

"You know who Robert Quarles is, don't you?" Devil asked him, and Shaun jerked a nod.

"Everybody fucking does" he said, his voice shaky. "Why would he come to me, of all people, to get money off?"

"How the fuck would I know? I just know what Duffy told me. I ain't even sure what Duffy's incentive is, sendin' me here to warn you, cause, quite frankly, I think you're a dick. But, well, whatever the reason, Duffy's givin' you a way out of bein' manhandled and robbed by a fuckin' pervert psycho, so I'd take it if I were you."

"Well, you're not me" Shaun said. "But… I guess I believe you."

He lowered his weapon, and Devil breathed a little easier. He'd been sure the man wasn't going to shoot, but staring down a barrel had never been his idea of fun. "Good" he said. "Then I suggest you pack your bags and get lost. Don't show up for two weeks and you should be good. And now I REALLY hope I ain't seein' you again."

"Ditto" Shaun said.

Well, that was easier than expected, Devil thought when he went back to his car. Looking at his cell phone, he was left with less than twenty minutes to get back to Frankfort, and he knew, even if he caught every green light on the way, it wouldn't be possible to make it on time. But, well, Quarles wouldn't expect him to show up the second he called, would he? Maybe Duffy had been talking shit and Quarles wasn't gonna show up as early. Maybe he wouldn't show up at all. The guy was unpredictable. That thought, as these words had been told to him by Tanner two and a half months prior, reminded him of what he'd lost a week ago, and the reminder was like a poke with a hot stick in the stomach.

Tanner's death was still fresh enough that sometimes Devil just forgot, and then the next minute, he would remember and start mourning all over again; he wondered when that would stop. It had been like that when his cell phone had been stolen five years ago. He would go somewhere and think, oh yeah, I should text Boyd about it, or, shit, I need to check the time, and he'd reach for his phone and only then remember he wouldn't be able to do any of the things he wanted to because his phone wasn't there. Only now, it wasn't a cell phone he'd lost, it was Tanner. And while he'd been able to buy himself a new phone after saving his money for a month, he wouldn't be able to replace Tanner with someone else, not with all the savings in the world.

Unable to stop his thoughts from following along that dark trail, he was in an appropriately negative mood when he crossed over East-West Con on Lawrenceburg Road and his cell phone started buzzing in his pants pocket. Keeping his eyes on the road, he fished his cell phone out, and cursed silently, because it was Quarles. Damn Wynn Duffy and his always being right about things.

"Hello?" Devil answered the call.

"Devil" Quarles said on the other end of the line, and for some strange reason, he sounded like he was out of breath.

"Yeah, that's me."

"Devil, I'm going to need your help" Quarles said, no, panted. "Right now, you need to show up at my office right now, can you do that for me, buddy?"

Buddy?, Devil repeated in his head. The street in front of him shouted "Wrong!" at him. What was going on here? "Uhm, sure, I can do that" he said slowly, checking the time. He was still ten minutes out. "I'mma be there in a few."

"Thank you, Devil, thank you."

"S'alr-" Devil started, but Quarles hung up.

"Well, that was weird" Devil said to no-one in particular, but Lewis seemed to agree with him, because the radio turned on by itself and honest to God blasted "Strange Days" by The Doors into his face.

"Jesus Christ!" Devil was so surprised he almost swerved off the road. "Strange days have tracked us down" Jim Morrison informed him. No shit, Devil thought and tried not to listen to the rest of the first verse. He made it to Quarles's office just in time for it to not look suspicious. Forgoing the slow, smelly elevator, he raced up the stairs and was a little out of breath (okay: a lot) himself when he arrived at the correct floor. Strangely enough, the office door was wide open, something Devil had never seen before in all the weeks he'd come here. Funny was leaning against the door frame, one foot in the hallway, one in the office, and looking like he wanted to race away rather than stepping into the office wholly. Quarles wasn't sitting in his chair behind his pompous oak desk, either: He was pacing from one wall to another, as if trying to walk a dent into the floor.

When Funny spotted Devil he lowered the hand he'd had to his mouth and looked relieved. "Mr. Quarles, he's here" he said and gave Devil a nod. Devil answered with a nod of his own; he could see compassion in Funny's eyes and was glad Funny wouldn't be able to address the Tanner matter now. Maybe Devil got lucky and Funny never would.

"Good, that's good, good" Quarles said, stopping in the middle of the room. "Devil, there you are! Come in, come on in, Devil. We have to, have to talk."

Devil couldn't even say hello. He almost asked where Quarles had disappeared to, because this guy was NOT the Robert Quarles he'd met three months ago. This man, right here, was high on Oxy, pupils dilated, disoriented, nervous, twitchy, sweating like a pig. He looked disheveled, too, like he hadn't had a shower in some time and had been wearing the same suit for three days in a row.

"Okay" Devil managed. "I'm here now. What's the deal?"

"I need money" Quarles said, resuming his pacing around the small room. "I need money and I know just the guy to get it from. He might not want to give it to me, though, so you and Russel and André here will accompany me and take his money by force if need be. Okay?"

"Sure" Devil said. He hadn't even noticed André until Quarles pointed him out; he was leaning in the far corner, behind the door, and he looked as confused and uneasy as Devil felt in the presence of this new, fucked up Quarles. Devil had been aware that the guy was insane, but whatever dams had held his craziness together until now had definitely broken. Devil had an inkling that Boyd was not innocent in that development.

"Okay, then, we need to go now, go!" Quarles made impatient shooing motions with his hands, and Devil turned to the door. The secretary, Suzan, was not there. He wondered what had come of her, whether she was okay. Sure, her voice had been annoying as all hell, but she'd always been really nice to Devil, and although Devil suspected that had been owed to the fact that she wanted to get in his pants, he'd still liked having someone around who gave him real smiles when he came by the office. Instead he asked, "And who is this guy we're gon' get the money off?"

He knew, of course, perfectly well which poor guy this was, and how pointless this whole operation was because of him knowing, but, well, keeping pretenses up and shit, Devil was pretty good at that now.

"Craig Allan Shaun" Quarles said. "Some British fuck who moved into a villa in Lawrenceburg couple years ago, he's got money coming out of his ass and he's an asshole who owes me."

Devil wasn't sure what Shaun could possibly owe someone like Quarles, but he just kept his mouth closed over this one. This was one of those moments where Devil The Understudy had to keep to his lines (silence) and his cues (questions from Quarles). He knew them pretty well by now.

"Where in Lawrenceburg?" Funny asked.

"Bluebird Court" André answered for Quarles. "Rich neighborhood. You ridin' with Devil? The two of you just follow my car, I know where it is."

Me, too, dickface, Devil thought, but he just caught himself before saying it out loud. Of course he knew where Shaun lived, he'd been there twice. But those who were in his company right now didn't know that, and weren't supposed to know that, either. This asshole André just pissed Devil off a great deal. It was a good idea to ride with Funny, then, because, as easy as it was for André to get a rise out of Devil, the less time Devil spent with André in a confined car space, the less time he had to blurt something out that should have stayed hidden.

"Alright" was all he said, and André nodded. They left the building and Devil automatically walked over to his truck.

"Funny, man, we're ridin' in my truck" he said. "Your car depresses me."

"What's wrong with my car?" Funny asked, appalled.

"It's a Ford Taurus, that's all I got to say on the matter."

"Shut up. Like your ride's that much better" Funny retorted while getting into the passenger's seat.

"Easy with that shit in here, man" Devil said and turned the key in the ignition. "This truck is a family treasure. My cousin Lewis died in here and I inherited it from him-"

"Jesus, man! You're drivin' round in a car that someone kicked the bucket in? And you call it a 'treasure'?" Funny shuddered. "That's… good Lord."

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Wrong, man. Just wrong."

I know a thing or two about wrong, Devil thought to himself. The bad feeling still lingered, no, loomed over his head like a dark cloud. He'd almost gotten used to it by now. Maybe it didn't even mean anything. Devil had had bad feelings before, and he couldn't remember one time when it had actually meant that something really bad had happened to him in the aftermath. Those days with bad feelings might not have been the greatest days of his life, but they hadn't exactly killed him, either. So chill the fuck out, Devil told himself. Everything's not as bad as it seems.

They followed André's Mercedes, and Devil did his best to pretend he didn't know the way. He felt Funny's eyes on him and sighed. Just like the first day they'd met, when he'd felt Funny's eyes on him the entire time, too. Back then curiosity had fueled Funny's attention. Now it was compassion, something Devil didn't want nor need, not anymore.

"Hey, man" Funny started, and Devil almost told him to shut the fuck up. He shrugged uncomfortably.

"What?"

"I heard bout Tanner, man, I'm…"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, too." Devil chewed on his lip and kept staring straight ahead.

"I mean, shit, I knew him well, but from what I heard-"

"Can we not talk about this?" Devil interrupted him.

"Course. Sorry." Funny fell silent. Devil sighed.

"Sorry, man. Just… I just don't wanna talk about it. I ain't big on the emotional shit, you know."

"Yeah, it's okay, Devil, I get it. But you know, just in case you DO get all emotional about it, guess what, I'mma make you some tea and listen to you, huh?"

"I hate tea" Devil said, but he smiled slightly in Funny's direction while saying it, and Funny, who had turned out to understand him better than most other people did after knowing Devil for such a short time, just smiled back and knew this was Devil's screwed up way of saying "Thanks, I might get back to you on that".

"So, I ain't seen you in a while. How you holdin' up, aside from everythin' else?"

Devil shrugged. "I met a girl, moved in with her."

"What? When?" Funny blinked at him. "It ain't been THAT long since we last seen each other, right?"

"Heh. I know. It was the day I, you know, shot those Norwegian fuckers, I decided to get wasted, and then apparently she picked me up in the bar. I was so finished, I don't remember a thing from that night. So, turns out she's called Nina and she's hot and for some strange reason, she really likes me, and she'd just broken up with her douchebag of an ex-boyfriend, so there was room in her flat."

"And that's it" Funny said, raising an eyebrow. "You move in with her. Just like that."

Devil nodded. "Yeah."

"You know that's crazy, right?"

"I do know, but it just works out, I don't even know how, but it just does."

"So, that girl right?"

"Nina."

"Nina. She, uh, blind or somethin'?"

Devil took his right hand off the steering wheel for a second to punch Funny in the arm. "Funny, indeed. Asshole." But he was grinning, still.

"Hey! It's a legitimate question, ugly as you are" Funny replied, rubbing his arm, laughing quietly the whole time.

"FYI, no, she ain't blind. She's cool. And smart. She reads a lot." The only person Devil knew that read more than Nina was Boyd, obviously, and Nina didn't read THAT much. But to Devil, she seemed like a very smart person.

"Sounds rivetin'" Funny said, but his smile softened his sarcastic words. "Good for you, man."

Devil was saved from answering when they arrived at Bluebird Court, and he halted behind André's car on the side of the road. "Seems like we're there" he said.

"Seems like it" Funny agreed and got out of the truck, meeting up with Quarles and André on the side walk. Devil followed after him, looking at the big house. He just hoped Shaun had already left, because if he hadn't, this would all come crashing down on Devil, and Devil really wasn't too keen on that.

* * *

And in the next chapter shit will start to get real. Not so PG then.

I am not necessarily that familar with The Doors. I mean, I know the songs everybody knows, like "Riders on the storm" and "Light my fire" and "The End", but that's about it, and I only know THESE three because my mother wanted to teach me something about one of her favorite bands. So, when I needed a song Lewis could blast at his dear cousin, I just used the very helpful songext search and came up with that song. Nice coincidence, too, because "Strange Days" is one seriously good piece of music!

Furthermore, the conference every day at my internship starts with lost a bit of its journalistic impressiveness yesterday when a couple guys started a discussion of what's cuter: Baby elephants or baby orangutans. Like that's even a question.

(It's elephants, just so you know.)


	15. Chapter 15

And this is chapter 15. This is where shit gets real. And actually, I was sure the next one, chapter 16, would be the last one, but as it turns out it will be 17, with an option on 18, I'm really not sure yet. Furthermore, the posting of the next chap could be a little delayed, since I really got an unholy amount of work to do, but I'm seriously giving it my all.

WARNINGS: Descriptions of physical violence and drug use (although non-explicit), use of the n-word.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 15

* * *

"There's no way!" Quarles shouted and threw Shaun's office chair through his study. "No FUCKING way!"

They'd stormed into Craig Allan Shaun's villa and, of course, found it empty. Devil was glad; Shaun was gone. The closet in his bedroom was still open and let them see an unnatural gap in between the neat piles of his clothes, suggesting that he'd hurriedly packed a bag before leaving. It was a dead giveaway that someone had tipped him off.

Devil couldn't understand how Quarles didn't figure out it was Duffy who'd orchestrated the whole thing. How many people had he actually TOLD that he came back to Frankfort to get some money? Devil doubted that there were many people who knew. He was simply hoping, for now, that no-one would suspect him to have anything to do with it. That suspicion wasn't likely to be raised any time soon, Devil tried to assure himself as he stood next to Funny in front of the huge aquarium, watching as Quarles proceeded to trash the place.

"I'm worried for the fish" Funny mumbled to him.

"I'm worried for myself" Devil mumbled back. "Maybe we should get out of here. It's obvious the guy ain't here."

"You go on and tell him that. The guy's high on somethin', I ain't tellin' him nothin', man."

"Me neither." Devil frowned and looked around. "Where's the ass kisser? Maybe he can give it a try."

"André?" Funny shrugged. "Probably crawled underneath some stone or somethin'. He ain't tryin' nothin'. He's terrified of Quarles. I mean, I can understand. I've known this man for, like, half a year now, and he's never been high on anythin', not even booze."

Together they watched as Quarles pushed the filing cabinet onto its side. Papers spilled out of it and scattered around the room, settling onto the tasteful gray carpet until the room looked like it had snowed in there.

"There's just no way" Quarles said, sounding pleading, and Devil thought he might start to cry, he appeared that desperate.

"Mr. Quarles, Sir" Funny started, slowly, "maybe we should, I dunno, leave? Looks like he-"

"I'm not leaving without my money!" Quarles yelled, kicking the trashcan through the room. "I need that money!"

"Okay then, we'll just wait outside" Devil said and pulled on Funny's sleeve to make him follow. They wandered out into the spacious backyard, where they found André; he was sitting on a blue-painted bench on the lawn, staring at the swimming pool, looking uncomfortable and nervous.

"Ey there, man" Devil said and André turned to them. He frowned.

"Quarles still on a rampage?"

"You bet on it" Devil replied, sitting down next to him. "High as he is, he might take a while to come down from that."

"Motherfucker's delusional" Funny chimed in from where he stood behind the bench. "Now he's sayin' it's HIS money even though we all know he just came here to steal it from Shaun."

"He just needs it, like, really bad" André said. "Lord knows what for. Maybe he's just dreamin' shit up, and next thing we know he tells us there's a giant dead bunny followin' him around tellin' him the world will end in twenty-eight days."

"First off, I doubt he's seen 'Donnie Darko', and second, if the world did end, money ain't doin' you no good" Devil said. "Then again, Funny's right, that guy's gone crazy. There's no way to know what the fuck's goin' on in that big baby head a'his."

"So, what do we do?" André asked them. "We just gon' sit here and wait for them polies to show up? Cause they are gon' show up, I'm sure. Shaun disappears, and then we turn up here, and Quarles keeps trashin' his study like that? Neighbors are nosy people, everywhere. If they ain't noticed somethin' goin' on here, they will soon, I'm tellin' you."

"And we better not be here for that" Funny agreed.

"And how are we gonna do it, then?" Devil posed the obvious question. "He ain't listenin', not to anyone. He's in his own little world of Psycho-Drug-Freak-Out-Land."

As if to back Devil's words up, they heard a window being smashed in nearby.

"Do you have any idea what he needs the money for?" Devil asked, careful to sound annoyed and nothing else.

"Nope" Funny answered.

"No idea" André said.

"Well, me neither" Devil said and cleared his throat. "So there's no way to know whether he actually needs it or if he's really just turned batshit."

"But we can't just leave" André intercepted.

"Yeah, but we can't stay" Devil objected.

"Not forever."

"Not for long, man. You said yourself the polies might show up here any minute the neighbors notice somethin's off."

"Guys" Funny said and sighed. "Quarles is gon' catch himself in time, and then we're gonna leave. And if the polies show up before he catches himself, we" he gestured between the three of them "will leave and Quarles has to see what comes of himself. I ain't goin' to jail for him, and neither are you."

"Amen to that" Devil murmured, and André nodded begrudgingly.

As luck (or bad luck, Devil would think later in the day) would have it, it didn't come to that, because five minutes after they'd ended their conversation and had turned to just watching mosquitoes buzz around over the pool, Quarles came out of Shaun's house to join them in the yard. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely, and Devil had to turn away because he smelled pretty bad. Quarles was pale as a sheet and looked exhausted, but he seemed to have calmed down somewhat, and his face was clearer than before.

"Guys" he said, "I am sorry for that scene, I don't know what got into me there. I apologize."

"It's, uh, it's alright, Mr. Quarles" Funny said, and André nodded, while Devil gave a half-hearted shrug. "So, if you've calmed down now, uhm… Sir, what are we gonna do? Shaun ain't here."

"No, Russel, I know. I know he's not. But I do have an idea where he might be."

Devil looked at him then, trying his very hardest to not look alarmed. "You DO?"

"Yes, Devil, I do." Quarles gave him a smile, which was more distorted and bizarre now than usual. He handed Devil a photograph. Devil took the picture and inspected it, frowning. It showed Craig Allan Shaun, how he was standing in front of a barn that was painted a neon-type of yellow and looked quite ugly, and he was bending down slightly to pat a sheep on the head whose wool was quite the mess, with several patches of skin being exposed due to spots where the wool was just missing, and other patches where the wool was overgrowing and almost reaching the ground.

"What am I lookin' at?" Devil passed the picture on to Funny.

"This is a farm that Mr. Shaun is apparently a frequent visitor of" Quarles explained, sounding severely pleased with himself. "I found this picture, alongside a whole bunch of other, similar ones, when I was trashing his desk."

"So what? It's a farm" Devil said. "I bet there's plenty of farms with sheep that look like someone ran over them with a lawnmower."

"Be that as it may, Devil, there are not that many farms with barns painted in neon-yellow around here."

"But I know one" Funny said. André nodded. "The one on Versailles Road" he said. "I've been there, once, when my parents wanted to buy some chicken couple years ago. It looks just like it does on the picture."

"Yes, guys, that's exactly what I wanted to say" Quarles nodded. "The farm on Versailles Road. It's only a few minutes from here."

"But…" Devil was getting anxious now. "How the hell do we know he went there, and not anywhere else? I mean, it looks like someone tipped him off, right? Why the fuck wouldn't he try an' get out of the state? It's what I would do."

"Well, Devil you're right, we don't know." Quarles fiddled with the collar of his jacket. "By now, Mr. Shaun could literally be anywhere. But it's a lead, and we have to try, because I need that money, and I need it badly, and we have to try."

"Okay then" Funny said. "So we're gonna go there now? The four of us?"

"No, no" Quarles said. "I have to get back to Harlan now, there's some business I need to take care of. There seems to be the chance that Shaun will not be found and in that case I'll have to procure the money some other way, and I best get right on that. Just in case."

He looked them straight in the eye. "But I do hope that you WILL find Shaun. You are my best men." Quarles let that sentence hang in the air for a few seconds, before nodding and turning away.

"André, you're gonna ride with them now, I'll be in contact." He hesitated for a second. "I hope."

Devil, Funny and André watched him leave. Devil replayed Quarles's last statement in his mind. 'You're my best men.' 'You', as in André, Funny, and Devil. Devil shuddered. His best man? He was, wasn't he? After all, Devil had killed two people for him. He swallowed and tried not to dwell on that thought.

"So, then I guess we best get goin'" Funny said. André got up, but Devil stayed seated.

"Man, what's the point?" he argued. "Shaun ain't gonna be on that fuckin' farm."

"And how the hell do you know?"

Because I told him to get lost, Devil thought. I told him to get the hell outta Dodge because horrible things would happen to him if he didn't. Because I pray to God that he listened to me.

"Because he'd be fuckin' retarded to do that" he said. "Like, if you knew someone like Quarles was after you, would you really hide just five minutes from your house? Or would you leave the fuckin' city and the fuckin' state?"

Funny shrugged. "I dunno. I know what I would do, but that Shaun guy, that ain't me. He might actually be dumb enough to still be around here. We gotta at least check it out, man."

He didn't seem all that dumb to me, Devil thought, but of course he couldn't say that out loud.

"Do we really need to go there, though?" he said. "I mean, it's just so unlikely that Shaun would be there, think about it. We could just say we did look, and Quarles would have to believe us-"

"But we ain't in the habit of lyin' to our boss, now are we?" André interrupted him with raised eyebrows. Dickhead, Devil thought.

"Devil" Funny said before Devil could reply, "I know he probably ain't gon' be there. But it's just five minutes from here, we'll give it a quick check, and then we can leave and we don't have to lie to nobody about anythin'. Okay?"

Like hell, Devil thought. His entire life was one big lie right at this moment. But what the hell else could he do?

"Okay" he said and stood up. The sun and the mosquitoes and the grass shouted the by now familiar "Wrong!" at him, and he imagined it got louder.

* * *

"Here it is" André said. "Pull over."

Devil obeyed. "I still think this is pointless" he said. "He ain't gon' be here."

"Yeah. So you've said about ten times now, we got it, man." André got out of Devil's truck and slammed the door shut. Funny gave Devil an inquiring look.

"You okay, man?" he asked. "You look nervous."

"Nah, man, I'm – fine." Devil's gut churned at yet another lie, and it made him almost trip over his words. Funny noticed, he did notice a lot of things, but once again, he didn't mention it. Funny just took off his seatbelt and joined André on the side of the road. Devil reluctantly did the same, and then they were entering the farm grounds. The bright yellow barn immediately jumped into their view. It was quiet in here, too quiet actually.

"I thought this was a farm?" Devil questioned. "With chickens and sheep and shit? Looks dead to me."

"They musta shut it down" André said, looking around. "Shame, that is. It was a beautiful place."

"Yeah, whatever. Can we just get to searchin' the place so I can get back to my girlfriend's place and do what I wanted to do before I got called here?" Devil wallowed shortly in how that sounded. 'Get back to my girlfriend's place.' It sounded pretty amazing, and it felt amazing to say it, too. It was true, as well: He could not wait to get back to Nina's place, to wait for when she got off work and make up with her after the half-fight they'd had this morning. Make-up sex. Another great thing he'd missed out on while not being in relationships.

"Alright, alright" Funny said. "How bout that: André, you go this way, me and Devil go that way, and in, say, ten minutes we'll meet back at the car and leave."

"Sounds good" André shrugged and turned left, to the house that looked empty, with some of the windows smashed in and some of the shingles from the roof having fallen off, now littered in pieces on the ground. Funny and Devil turned right and went over to the yellow barn.

"Do we really have to do this?" Devil asked, looking around the farm as he yanked on the heavy barn doors. "The guy ain't here, you know that."

"Well, no, Devil, I don't" Funny said. "because I ain't no psychic, and I can't tell where someone is without seein' him. Unless YOU know somethin' I don't."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you're awfully keen on that guy not bein' found, Devil, is all I'm sayin'. Just seems odd to me. I know you ain't the biggest fan of Quarles, and neither am I, I mean, nobody is. But this is just… strange."

They entered the barn then, and it was dark inside, the rich smell of hay filling the air. The barn was empty of animals, though. André was right: The place seemed to have been shut down.

"I ain't keen on nothin', man" Devil said, looking away, "'cept for getting' home to my girl and watchin' some TV. I just think this is pointl-"

"Yeah, you already mentioned that you think it's pointless. Course it is. Just…" Funny sighed. In the shades of the barn Devil could not see his face clearly, but he sounded angry, and worried.

"Devil, man. I ain't never asked you about all that shit in Harlan, and you bein' a traitor and shit, because you asked me not to, and I, I owe you my life, man, so I never did ask. But, well, it's not askin' if I just tell you what I think, is it?"

"And what do you think?" Devil asked slowly.

"That you ain't a traitor. Least not to your people."

"What d'you mean, 'my people'?"

"You know what I mean, man. You don't need to pull the racist card with me, I think that one went out the window the second you got that tattoo on your neck done." Funny snorted, and it wasn't a happy sound. "I mean, your people, in Harlan. Boyd Crowder. I asked my kin in Noble's Holler about every detail they had on you and the shit you did, and you wanna know what? I think you ARE betrayin' someone, but it ain't Crowder."

"Who do you think it is, then?"

"I think you know who I think it is. And you know what? I am fine with that. Completely, utterly FINE."

Devil blinked at him. Damnit, he would have liked to see Funny's face better, so he could tell whether the man was shitting him or not. "Say what?"

"You heard me. Devil, the man's a fuckin' A class lunatic. You really think I'd be workin' for Quarles if I didn't have my own pot of bullshit stirrin'? Mr. Limehouse has a pretty far reach, you wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"So you're sayin'…"

"Yeah, man. We on the same side here." Funny grinned then, and Devil could see his teeth flash. It comfortably reminded him of Boyd, and he felt himself relax a fraction.

That fraction was all it took. In the dark, being convinced that Shaun wouldn't be here anyway, both men had let their guard down, and they didn't notice Shaun nearing them until he had a knife to Devil's back and an arm wrapped around his throat from behind.

"GAH!" Devil yelled out when he felt a sharp blade against his skin. It came out strangled; Shaun's forearm was pressing against his Adam's apple hard enough that he could barely breathe.

"I got you there, mate" Shaun spoke into his ear. Then he shouted, still next to Devil's ear, and the noise made Devil's head sting.

"Hey, you, nigger! Drop your fucking weapon! I got a knife to his spinal cord, and I know exactly where to cut so that he'll either die or never walk again! I'm serious, do you hear me, nigger? Drop your motherfucking gun!"

Shit, Devil thought, trying to swallow and finding that he wasn't able to. He had a knife against his back, and now Funny had his gun drawn? This could only end badly, for all of them.

"Drop your bloody gun!"

"Listen, man, you don't have to do this…" Funny sounded scared, and Devil just wished he could reach his Beretta; Shaun had to feel it sticking out of the back of Devil's belt. Devil wished he hadn't forgone his leather vest this morning. The thin shirt and wife-beater he was wearing did nothing to hold the sharp blade back.

"You would like to reach for your fucking gun right now, wouldn't you, mate" Shaun said into his ear and put more pressure on the blade, making Devil flinch in pain. "You're not that tough when you're unarmed, yeah? Little lying fucker."

"What the hell you on about, man?" Funny asked. Devil still couldn't see his face clearly, but the outlines became clearer now, and Devil thought he saw Funny's hand with the gun, shaking dangerously.

"I am on about how this guy is a fucking traitor, you fucking imbecile! He came to my house this morning and told me to get lost because Robert Quarles would come looking for me, and then I do get lost, and now you show up here with two of Quarles's henchmen and, what, huh? What kind of screwed up game are you playing, you dick?"

"Devil?" Funny sounded uncertain. The edges of Devil's view became fuzzy because he still couldn't breathe, and he just stood there like an idiot, with his hands in the air and a knife to his back, because he did not know what the fuck to do about it.

"Ain't… playin'… nothin'…" Devil rasped out. "Let… go of… me…"

"Bullshit!" Shaun yelled, his body shaking with rage, and his hand inadvertently drove the knife deep enough into Devil's back that the skin broke and blood began slowly drenching his undershirt, making it stick to him; a disgusting feeling that brought up flashbacks of getting shot. The gunshot wound, almost fully healed on the other side of his back, began to throb again, a kind of memorized pain that his body seemed to connect to a situation such as this. Because this was a life-threatening situation, Devil's mind caught up to it now, if not for Shaun and the knife that was currently carving a small, bloody pattern into the skin on his back, then maybe for Funny and that damn semi-automatic Glock in his hands that Funny, the good man that he was, handled no better than a fucking five-year-old.

Devil had, most of the time, little talent of getting into a man's head; he was not, and never had been, a person for great empathy. He could measure whether someone was dangerous, whether someone was conniving or just dumb. But he couldn't predict people, the way Boyd could. Sometimes he had a hunch, and mostly when he had one of those, he turned out to be right. But now, right here, even though he couldn't see Funny's face as clearly as he would have liked, Devil's head ran through every information on Funny he possessed, and like a computer, was able to isolate the relevant data for this situation, and he came to one conclusion, and that conclusion was this: Funny would panic. Funny thought he owed Devil his life. Funny was absolute shit at shooting. Funny WOULD try everything he could to save Devil from getting stabbed in the back; hence Funny WOULD shoot, and that could only end in a catastrophe that Devil wanted to avoid at all costs. So Devil, whose brain was admittedly running short on oxygen, did the one thing that seemed logical to him right then and there.

His hands, having uselessly dangled through the air until then, reached up, and one grabbed Shaun's left forearm that was wrapped around Devil's throat in an iron-like grip, while the other one went over his head, over Shaun's head as well, and tangled in the ash-blonde strands of carefully styled and cut hair on the back of Shaun's head, tangled into them so deeply Devil couldn't have withdrawn his fingers again without ripping those strands out. He did all of that, as slow as it seemed to him in his adrenaline-pumped brain, in a matter of moments, and before either Shaun or Funny had processed that movement fully, Devil threw himself forward while tugging on the points where he had locked on Shaun. Tugging HARD.

The result was what Devil could only have dreamed of: Shaun was actually thrown over Devil's shoulder. Something in Shaun's wrist, that Devil's cramping fingers couldn't seem to let go of, gave way, an ugly sound of snapping bone, and then Shaun was lying on the ground, holding his wrist and groaning, and Devil fell to his knees, because something about this wasn't right; first of all, what was that sound? It sounded like someone had shot a gun, but why? Devil felt the reassuring weight of his Beretta against his back, and it was getting wet, rapidly, and that he didn't understand, but he had this nagging feeling that something was amiss, anyway. His pants felt like he had pissed in them, and that didn't make any sense, either. He hadn't wet himself since primary school. Some detail in his mind was still missing.

In the sparse lighting of the barn he looked up and only now did Devil see Funny's face in a whole. Funny had stepped up to him, to a spot where the sun shone through a hole in the wall, and Devil could see that Funny had his eyes opened wide, very wide, and that his gun was raised, the barrel smoking, like it had recently been shot. Oh, Devil thought. Yeah, that makes sense. Funny had shot his gun. Hadn't that been what Devil had wanted to avoid?

Funny's eyes were not locked on Devil, though; they weren't locked on Shaun, either. They were rather locked on the knife that lay on the dirty, hay-covered ground next to where Devil was kneeling, and Devil looked there, too. Right. The knife. Devil understood that the knife was the detail he'd strangely forgotten about. It was only logical for the knife to be lying there, since it wasn't in Shaun's hand anymore. The knife's blade was red with blood. That made sense, too, since Shaun HAD cut Devil's back a little before Devil managed to throw him on the ground.

But, Devil halted there. For that little a cut, there was a lot of blood. His pants felt heavy with moisture now. Had he actually pissed his pants? In a life-and-death situation, surely that would be excusable?

"Shit, Devil" Funny said, and his voice sounded tinny, somehow. "What the fuck did you do?"

Devil felt cold, and like there was still something he didn't catch on to. His back started aching. Yeah, the gunshot. Memory pain. But it was on the wrong side. Hadn't Boyd shot him in his left side? Then why was his right side hurting now? Devil lifted his right hand, opened it and let some ash-blonde strands of hair sail to the floor like feathers, and he reached it there, slowly like he was moving under water. He touched his right side. It was warm, and sticky, and it hurt. Hurt. Hurt a lot.

Devil's hand came away covered in blood, an unholy amount of it, too, as if Devil hadn't just touched his side, but had instead dipped his hand into a bucket of red paint. And that was when he finally caught up: Holy shit. This was his blood. Blood on his side. Lots of blood on his side, and the knife was lying on the ground, and he had thrown Shaun over his shoulder and something had to have gone not according to plan at all, because Devil was shivering, and he was panting, and why was he hurting so goddamn much again?

He fell forward and caught himself on his hands, and then Funny was right next to him and talked to him, but Devil couldn't really understand anything that Funny was saying. All he understood was, he was hurt, and this sucked majorly.

"Devil, man, look at me, look at me, for fuck sake!" Funny yelled at him, and Devil almost missed André stumbling into the barn, gun drawn, looking every which way.

"What the hell happened? Did you shoot him? I heard fire, I came immediately, what the fuck happened?"

"Shaun was here" Funny said, and there was a lot he was NOT saying, and even through his hazy state of not quite catching on Devil understood at least that. He would have said thank you, but he couldn't say anything just then.

"Got Devil with a knife, I tried to shoot him, but you know how much I suck at that. He got away."

"Shit, man, that's what we're fuckin' here for, to get that son of a bitch, and then you got him right in front of you, and you MISS?!"

"Dude, I wasn't exactly payin' attention to the fucking British ass when Devil's bleedin' out in front of me!" Funny yelled back, and now Devil did finally feel the need to join the conversation.

"Bleedin' out?" he rasped, and he sounded a bit like a child. Unbelieving, and wondering how the fuck that had happened.

"No, no, no" Funny immediately revoked. "No, you're not bleedin' out, Devil, you're fine. You're gon' be just fine, okay?"

André had walked around Devil then, and when he looked at Devil's side, he sucked in a harsh breath. "Holy shit, that's a lot of blood. You sure about that, Russ?"

"Shut the fuck up, man! You're such a fuckin' idiot!" Funny shouted, because upon hearing that, Devil did start to panic, just a little. Because he did not want to lose a lot of blood, and he did not want to bleed out, not anywhere, but least of all in a fucking bright yellow barn on a shut-down farm in motherfucking Frankfort, Kentucky.

The bloody hay and the dim light shouted "Wrong", but it wasn't as loud now as it was thunderous; it was the whole world now, and it wasn't shouting, it was screaming, and it was silent all at the same time. His fingers tingled, and he was freezing. Funny talked to him, and Devil didn't understand a word of what he was saying. The world swam out of focus. Everything seemed far, far away. Devil dimly realized that he was going into shock, and he couldn't start to care. He was not going to die in Frankfort. There was just no way.

* * *

I love "Donne Darko". Ain't seen that movie for ages, I should watch it again sometime... Right after the new Star Trek, whohoooo!

And I don't know if there's a farm on Versailles Road in Frankfort. I just totally made that up.

So, anyway. Anyone might be inclined to review, I ain't inclined to disagree.


	16. Chapter 16

It seems like I HAVE run into a roadblock, and a massive one, too, WAY more massive than the WALL that Dennis runs into in "Run Fatboy Run", concerning chapter 17. I have decided that it's gonna be the last chapter, but let me tell you, everything I've produced so far is just one big steaming pile of shit, seriously. I know the words, but I just can't get them out, so I'm starting over, and I have so fucking much to do this weekend that I'll only have time for it next week, and THAT means that I'll postpone posting the last chapter til next weekend.

I'm terribly sorry, and I'm so hot for finishing this story, but I'll rather do it delayed and be satisfied with my work, than post it on time and forever hate it because it sucks. So, sorry, readers, but you gotta do what you gotta do. See you next week.

WARNINGS: Use of the n-word.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 16

* * *

Devil was riding his bike on a sunny street. He was on his way to see Tanner, to do something; what exactly, that didn't matter. The world around him was lit up like there literally were no shadows, ever, and he felt the warmth on his face and enjoyed it. The street around him changed, transformed into another street right before his eyes, and Devil didn't wonder about it because it was normal for streets to do that. He only wondered what it looked like to those who stayed on the same street forever.

The street he now was on was sunny, as well. No, scratch that, he thought. This wasn't just a sunny place. This was a place where the light seemed to be everywhere, like the sun was not in the sky, but it was in everything and shone from all directions. The pavement looked like it was made of gold.

Devil halted and asked someone for directions to Tanner, because he was still on his way to him, even though he'd lost his bike somewhere along the way. The woman he'd asked, he thought it was a woman, but he couldn't be too sure, answered that Tanner didn't exist, and Devil said, bullshit, I know that ain't true.

He entered a house then, in this world of sunshine, but inside the house it was dark, and cold. Why Devil had even entered it, he couldn't say. He just assumed this was where he'd finally meet with Tanner. But instead feelings of déjà vu overcame him, strong ones, and he remembered things.

Devil remembered driving through the night with a gunshot wound in his side, scared to all hell like a little kid.

Then he remembered sunshine, and in that sunshine, anxiety, and brain matter that flew through the air like confetti at a screwed-up parade.

Then he remembered riding on a bus with Conan O'Brien and Hellboy, and in direct connection to that, he remembered falling, falling deep down somewhere he didn't belong, and falling in love.

He remembered darkness, and getting blisters on his hands from digging a grave; he remembered seeing people float around him who had fake smiles and no future.

He remembered the ocean, strangely enough, flying over the ocean like a bird, and an intense pain of loss, that slowly but surely transformed into an actual physical pain, a strong, mean throbbing in his side.

And then he remembered wrong light and wrong worlds and getting stabbed in the back, literally. Devil remembered dim light and tinny voices and something that felt a lot like dying.

* * *

Devil came to very, very slowly. The first thing he perceived was scratchy fabric against his stomach, and that his feet were bare. Then he noticed light shining directly into his face; his world seemed to consist of a very bright orange. He sensed that he was warm; not hot, just warm, and comfortably so. Devil steadily inhaled, and a familiar scent hit him. It was a smell he knew, knew very well, but he couldn't rightly place it. What he did understand was that he was lying on something soft, on his stomach. Maybe a bed. His hearing returned last, and with it came some muffled music that sounded precariously like techno. And then Devil understood.

He blinked, carefully, one eye open, and through the bright sunshine he could just make out a big window and an ugly-as-fuck wicker chair standing next to it. That was all the affirmation Devil needed to know where he was. He moved his head to the side a little to be able to open his other eye, as well, since he was kind of lying on it, but the small movement brought his entire body into motion and a sharp pain ran through his entire right side. Not prepared for it, Devil let out a quiet, strained groan.

Someone was sitting in the wicker chair, how Devil missed that, he didn't know, and the person stood up now and walked over to him. Devil pressed his one opened eye closed again and waited for the pain to pass.

"Devil?" a voice said next to him, and Devil couldn't be sure, but it might have been Nina. He didn't give a response, still too tied up in the pain and trying to understand what the hell was going on. A new sound came to his ears, the familiar sound of curtains being drawn, and suddenly most of the bright sunshine was gone, and he felt like he could open his eye safely without being blinded, so he tried.

"Devil?"

It really was Nina. She was crouched down next to the bed, and she looked tired, and exhausted, and scared, and angry, and a hundred other things that were not good. But also, when Devil was able to focus on her, she looked relieved.

"Hey there, babe" she said, whispered, more like, and Devil would have liked to tell her that his ears were fine. But all he managed to get out was a strange sound.

"Ugh-huuuh…?"

"Yeah, it's me, Devil" she said and smiled. She looked so relieved that her eyes teared up. "You're okay, Devil, okay?"

Before he could try a response to this nonsense, she stood up and went to somewhere he couldn't see, presumably the door that led to the hallway, and then he heard her yell.

"Guys! He's AWAKE!"

Feet shuffled behind Devil's back, but the pain from his last attempt at moving still fresh in mind, Devil didn't do anything, just lay there. He kind of missed the sunshine now.

"Hey there, man."

That was Keegan. Devil attempted using his vocal cords again. This time it worked better.

"Wha'a… fugg?"

"What's he said?" he could hear Nina ask, and another voice, a deep, manly one, answered her.

"I think he said, 'what the fuck'" Funny explained. Devil's lips quirked into an invisible smile. Good ol' Funny, always understanding him so damn well.

"Yeah, that sounds like somethin' Devil would say in this situation alright" Nina said. Devil closed his eye again and summoned all his strength. Lifting his right arm, that had dangled from the bed, fingertips brushing the grimy carpeted floor of the guest room, he managed to turn onto his side – the left one, of course. Memories of Shaun and the knife and the barn came rushing back to him now, clear as day. Pain attacked him, more violently, and he whimpered, but didn't halt until he was actually lying on his side and could open both eyes.

"Whoa, easy there, man" Funny said, and Keegan reached out to him.

"Slowly, dude. You're hurt."

"Yeah" Devil rasped. "I remem'er…"

His throat was parched and he ended up couching, which let the aching tune up another notch, but now that Devil was more with himself again, he realized it wasn't THAT bad. Certainly not as bad as the gunshot had been. That knowledge alone did wonders to calm him down, because he hadn't died then, and he had not died yet, and that could only mean that he would not die, not today.

Someone reached a straw to his lips, and he sucked, enjoying the cool water and the feeling of it running down his esophagus to settle soothingly in his stomach.

"Thanks" Devil said, still sounding weak, more but like himself with each passing moment. "I'm in the CAG flat, right?"

"Yeah, man, you are" Funny said.

The mattress dipped a little when Nina sat next to Devil and took his hand gently in both of hers. Devil swallowed.

"I… how did I get here?"

"I thought you said you remember?" Funny asked him.

"I remember gettin' stabbed. Not much beyond that. How'd I get here?"

"Well, you went into shock, like, really quickly, and then André and I loaded you into your truck, and I drove you here. We carried you upstairs and Keegan called one of 'em Dixie Mafia docs right away."

"Yeah" Keegan chimed in. "They put you on the couch first, but the flat's really full right now, and all those assholes were starin' like this was some fuckin' event, so I told 'em to put you here instead, and kicked the guy out who was residing here originally. He even did it without complainin'."

Keegan halted there and sighed. "The doc came here in a matter of minutes, and he patched you up. Said the cut wasn't deep enough to be life-threatenin', just really long, an' that's why it bled so much. You did lose a lot of blood, but the doc said, if you rest for, like, the next two weeks or so, it should be okay."

"D'I get stitches?" Devil asked, uncomfortable with the knowledge that he had missed so much happening around and, more importantly, with him.

"Yeah, dude. Forty-two in total."

"Forty-two stitches?" Devil repeated. "Holy shit."

"I know" Keegan said. "Dude, if you could see it, it looks nasty. Not as nasty as that shot, but pretty nasty."

"Mmmmh" Devil sighed and closed his eyes again. He was fucking tired, even though he'd just woken up. The sunshine, still being blocked out by the curtains, confused him. "What time is it?" he asked. "How long was I out?"

"It's 6 am" Funny answered. "You been unconscious for almost twenty hours, man."

"Jesus. Any more embarrassin' news for me?"

"Nope" Funny said. Devil thought he heard something off about his tone of voice, but he was too tired to think about it or to open his eyes.

"'Kay" he mumbled. "M'tired."

"Course you are, Devil" Nina said, and Devil felt her hand pet his hair. "You jus' take a nap, huh? And if you need somethin', anythin', you just holler, we're nearby."

"I wanna go home" Devil said, barely aware that he was saying it, or whom he was saying it to, "can we go home?"

The immediate answer held off, but after some rustling and an uncomfortable silence that he barely perceived, Nina said, "Soon, Devil", and Funny spoke up again.

"Sorry, man, I woulda taken you to her place, but I didn't know where she… uhm, where that is."

"Wait, the meds!" Keegan said, sounding like he was in another room, and then Devil actually fell asleep for about a minute before Nina shook him awake again and force-fed him some pills to fight off possible infection. Devil did what she said without questioning it and fell asleep again, and this time, it was undisturbed, dreamless and thoroughly restorative.

When he woke up five hours later, he felt a myriad of things all at once, a stark contrast to his senses slowly returning one by one from the coma-like state he'd been in the first time he'd regained consciousness that day. He felt cold now, and he was in pain (bearable pain, but pain nonetheless), and he was thirsty and needed to take a leak and his head hurt when he moved it to look around and check if anyone was in the room with him. Nobody was. Devil could still hear muffled music, though, so he knew that somebody was there. Well, Keegan was pretty much always there, when he didn't make trips to the Laundromat or supermarket, so Devil didn't think he would have to worry about not getting any help, should he be in severe need for it.

Right now, Devil decided, he did not need any help. He'd driven several hours through the night with a gunshot wound in his side. A silly cut on his back would not hinder him from going to the bathroom. Having decided that, all Devil needed to do was to convince his body of that decision. He felt incredibly exhausted, like each of his limbs weighed a ton, and his joints seemed to creak like very old, rusty hinges. The cut stung and the forty-two stitches pulled when Devil carefully sat up on the bed. Putting his feet on the floor was agony, but Devil managed, and after having overcome the last hurdle of actually standing up, the rest was a piece of cake. Devil noticed he still had his jeans on that were absolutely drenched in blood, which was mostly dried and crusty now, and the smell it evaporated was one of sweetly-sick putridity which made Devil gag. Taking his pants off was not something he could manage on his own, though, he was pretty certain about that.

Making the wisest choice in this situation, Devil limped slowly to the door and opened it, looking into the dark hallway. Light fell in from the kitchen, which seemed to be empty. The door to the second bathroom was closed, but it always was. The music came from the living room, so Devil lumbered over and watched for a second as Keegan, Funny, Nina and two guys he didn't know, presumably current lodgers in the CAG flat, sat on the big couch and watched some senseless TV. Or, well, Funny and the two strange lodgers did. Nina had her head on Funny's shoulder, and Keegan was stretched out on the short side of the couch that ran along the window side, and they both appeared to be fast asleep.

"Hey" Devil said from where he stood, still half in the hallway, and Funny jerked in surprise, waking poor Nina up in the process.

"Jesus H. Christ, man!" Funny put a hand to his chest. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"Sorry" Devil said sheepishly. "Not my intention, brother."

"Devil?" Nina blinked at him and rubbed her eyes like a little girl. "What the fuck you doin' outta bed?"

"I, uh, I think I need some help." Devil didn't really want to tell her what it was he needed help with in front of the guys, because it would be a sure way to get some innuendo-heavy laughter he was not looking for at the moment. The two strangers regarded him carefully, and they had to smell the blood on him, because one of them covered his nose with a hand and turned away slightly. But they didn't look unfriendly. Still, Devil wanted to talk to Nina in private.

There was no imagining how much of that Devil would have to do once he got better, because, as much as there already had been that Nina had wanted to know, now he'd been this close to getting himself killed, and he was a hundred percent certain Nina would not let this matter rest. Not anymore – not after this.

"Sure, babe, what d'you need?" Nina asked. Devil nodded in the general direction of the guest room.

"In the bedroom, come on" he said, and she followed his lead.

"What is it?" Nina asked again after closing the door on the hallway behind them.

"I need you to help me get outta my pants."

"Devil? If this is some kinda elaborate scheme to make me sleep with you, I'm tellin' you now it…"

"No, babe, I'm serious." Devil waved at the dark, crusty stains. "They're full of blood, and it stinks, and I don't think I can take 'em off myself."

"Oh, dear Lord" Nina said and pulled a face of disgust. "Devil. You really did a number on yourself right there."

"Well, I didn't do it myself."

"Now, I wouldn't know that, would I? Since you're not tellin' me shit about it?"

"Nina…"

"Don't 'Nina' me here." Her eyes flashed at him angrily. "You coulda died. No, scratch that, you WOULDA died, if Russel hadn't been there to take you here immediately. This is not over and done with, Devil. We're talkin' about this. I'mma wait till you feel better, and then we're talkin' about it, like two grown-up people in a relationship do."

Not much I can do to stop you, Devil thought. He'd called it.

"Just help me with the fuckin' pants, alright?"

* * *

Dressed in pants that belonged to Keegan and therefore were an inch too long in the legs and smelled not like blood, but like an intoxicating mix of laundry detergent and weed, and a leftover shirt of Devil's that he'd forgotten the day he'd moved in with Nina, Devil let himself be driven the few blocks to Nina's flat in his truck. Funny sat at the wheel, and he seemed to handle the 4runner smoothly. Not everybody was able to do that. Nina sat in the passenger's seat and glowered, while Devil lounged in the backseat and marveled at the new perspective on his truck he was gaining.

"Hey" he said when a thought occurred to him, "Funny, how you gon' get home if you drove me here? Where's your depressin' ride?"

"Still at Quarles's office" Funny replied. "It ain't a big deal, I'll just walk there. It ain't far, so no worries."

"You heard of him since, you know?"

"Nah. Nobody's heard from him since, uh…"

Devil frowned. "Since yesterday?"

"Yeah…"

"Yeah?"

"Well..."

"Okay, what ain't you tellin' me?"

Devil could see Funny's eyes in the rearview mirror, and for all that he sucked at empathy, he just knew there was something Funny was not saying. Funny shot a glance at Nina, who followed the conversation (or lack thereof) like the proverbial fly on the wall, with an expression of utter confusion on her face.

"Well, Devil, I just don't think that you should hear this, in your, uh, condi-"

"Oh, come on now, give me a break! I ain't gonna fall apart. I'm FINE."

Nina broke her 'fly on the wall' attitude at that for a short, disbelieving snort.

"Okay, man, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Devil just waved for him to talk.

"Well, this mornin', after you'd woken up the first time, I called Noble's Holler, I wanted to know what Quarles was up to and he weren't answerin' his phone. André, my cousin, not Quarles's asskisser, told me that Mr. Limehouse told him that Quarles came round Johnny Crowder's bar last night to try and shoot Boyd Crowder."

"He did WHAT?!"

"Calm down, Devil, he didn't do it. Couldn't, more like it, cause before he could fire a shot, Wynn Duffy blew up his car, and apparently the only guy Quarles did end up shootin' was some State Trooper who just got there at the wrong time. So Crowder's fine. Both Crowders are just fine. You hear?"

Devil rubbed his forehead and tried to calm his racing heart. "Yeah, I hear ya."

"Good."

They arrived at Nina's place then, and after that scare, Devil felt tired and a little sick to his stomach. Nina got out of the truck and walked a straight line to the building, not looking back, apparently trusting Funny to help Devil get upstairs. She was pissed, and Devil hated it, because the last time he'd seen her before almost dying they'd almost fought and hadn't parted on the best of terms. He'd been looking forward to make-up sex. Now he had another wound to tend to and knew that would mean at least another two weeks without any sex, make-up or another kind, and instead of just being glad Devil was mostly okay, Nina was just angry Devil had any occasion to not be okay in the first place, and that just wasn't fair.

Devil carefully edged out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Funny, already outside, waited for him, arms crossed and a frown on his face. When Devil slammed the backdoor shut, Funny spoke up.

"You said you remember gettin' stabbed?"

"I do."

"So you remember what we talked about before you got stabbed?"

Devil furrowed his brow. "I… think so. Yeah."

"Well, I meant it. I still mean it. I don't give a fuck who you're really workin' for. And if that shit Shaun said is true, I don't give a shit, either."

"Right. You heard that."

"Yeah, I did. I'm havin' my own thoughts on that matter, but let me just say this: I knew you weren't what everybody said you is. I just knew. Now I have proof, and, well, it's cool."

"So… we're good?"

"Hell yeah, we are, man!" Funny smiled a little. "I still owe you my life. Some would say we're even now, but it is what it is."

"And this…" Devil took a step forward and lowered his voice, even though they'd been speaking quietly the whole time. "What you heard, this stays between us, right?"

"Course, Devil."

"Cause if anybody knows, I'm dead."

"I know. Trust me. Ain't nobody hearin' bout this from me."

"Alright, man" Devil said and realized that he did trust Funny. It was crazy, trusting a nigger with something as precious as your life, but Devil had done it and it had gotten him out of this shit alive, and he reckoned, as far as niggers went, this one was a pretty good friend. Someone that Devil could trust, and someone he would most definitely trust again.

"What did happen with Shaun, though?" Devil asked after a short companionable silence. "I mean, I think I remember breakin' his wrist, but it's all kinda foggy from there. Did I rip out some of his hair? And where did he go?"

"You did break his wrist alright. It was ugly. And he's got a bald spot on his head now, too. Looks like a monk, a bit." Funny laughed. "Anyway. Well, he was lyin' on the ground, and holdin' his wrist and stuff, and first I was like, holy shit, that was close – and then I saw you were bleedin' and I thought I'd hit you, but really, you know how awesome of a shot I am."

"So you didn't hit anyone?"

"Not if the wall of the barn don't count. I was gonna shoot Shaun, but as I said, when I saw you bleedin' I really couldn't care less bout Shaun, and he just scrambled up and muttered some shit bout how he was gonna get you back or what not, and then André came in and you passed out."

They ended up chatting for another few minutes, before Funny helped Devil up the stairs and said his goodbyes in front of the apartment door that Nina had left standing open. Turning away, Funny almost tripped over Felicity, who had wormed her way outside the apartment and was brushing around Devil and Funny's ankles now. She followed Devil inside when he entered the apartment and closed the door. He heard Nina rummaging around in the kitchen.

Standing in the doorway, Devil watched her doing the dishes, and being a bit more forceful about it than was advisable, or necessary.

"Nina" he said. She didn't look at him.

"You should lie down, you're hurt" was all she said.

"I've spent the last twenty-four hours lyin' down, I don't wanna lie down."

Nina didn't answer, and Devil heaved a sigh.

"Look, babe, I don't wanna have that talk, either, but, I just… I hate it when you're mad at me."

That got a reaction out of her. "Mad? MAD? I'm not mad, Devil. I'm devastated." Now she looked at him, and she deflated a little. "I just, I really like you, you know, and you go and live your secret illegal life and I try, I'm tryin' my hardest to be okay with it, because Nick always told me that I was obtrusive and nosy, so I just tried to mind my own business, but… you almost got killed, Devil. And if you wanna stay here, you're gonna have to talk to me at SOME point, because I wanna try an' stop bein' such a nosy bitch, but apparently, I just can't." Nina turned back to the sink. "Not when you're in danger. God, I know that sounds sappy and ridiculous, but that's what it is, Devil. Talk, or leave."

"Okay then. Let's talk. Now, before you mutilate them dishes."

"Not now. You're hurt, you need to lie down."

"Well, I don't wanna fuckin' lie down!" Devil yelled. Nina flinched back like he had lashed out at her, and now Devil really felt like an ass.

"Sorry" he said. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't wanna yell at you. Would you please just… I don't get it. You're so keen on havin' that talk with me. And now I'm offerin' it, and you don't want it?"

"We're both angry, and we're both scared" Nina said, slowly, like she was thinking carefully on every word she chose, "and I just think that maybe we need to cool off a little."

Devil felt neither angry nor scared and supposed Nina was talking about herself and just hoped she wasn't alone with her feelings, so he didn't correct her. He didn't try to push her anymore, either. Women and their strange ways, he thought. She'd just antagonize him with her insistence he have a lie-down even though he neither needed nor wanted one, and that would end in him yelling again, and he didn't want that. Devil liked Nina too much to yell at her over essentially nothing. Relenting was the best idea he had.

"I'mma be on the couch, case you wanna join me" he said and turned away, limping along the hallway. He did end up lying down on the couch and napping a bit, and later Nina did end up joining him there. But they didn't address any issues, and the silence hung between them heavily, with them not being able to look one another in the eye. Trying not to fight in the middle of a fight was not really working out that well for them, it seemed.

Nina was fixing them a late lunch when Devil's cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket hoping it wasn't Duffy, and it wasn't. It was Johnny Crowder.

A profound sense of impending doom overshadowed Devil's worries concerning Nina as well as the stinging in his side. He hadn't talked to Johnny since that fateful night almost three months ago, when Johnny had turned his gun on Devil and sat silently as Boyd told Devil what he could do to make up for his attempted betrayal that night. Even though Devil had been distantly aware he most likely wouldn't have the balls to go all the way through with it, the betrayal he'd felt at seeing Johnny turn on him like that had been sharp, intense, and Devil had not parted with Johnny on the best of terms, barely sparing him a glance. It was paradox, Devil was quite aware of that, what with Johnny being on the same side as Boyd, and Devil trying to redeem himself, but Devil still had a tiny amount of lingering resentment for the wheelchair-bound man.

For said man to call Devil now, out of nowhere, after Quarles had tried to shoot Boyd in front of his bar not an entire day ago, Devil just had this inkling that this was not a simple social call. It just couldn't be good. He was so reluctant to pick up he let the phone ring for almost a minute; that Johnny didn't just hang up when the probability of Devil not answering rose was another bad sign. It meant that this was a motherfucking urgent matter.

"Hello?" Devil said into the speaker tentatively.

"Devil?" It was Johnny alright.

"Yeah, man, Johnny, it's me. What's up?"

"Uhm…" Johnny sounded tentative, too. This really was bad.

"How you doin'?"

"Fine" Devil lied. "Not that it ain't… nice to hear from you, man, but, you didn't just call me to ask that, right?"

Johnny sighed. "No." He sighed again.

"I'm just gonna go and say it. Boyd's been arrested."

"Arrested for what?"

"Well, did he tell you bout that Army buddy of his that paid us a visit couple weeks after you left?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"He tell you how that ended?"

"Well… yeah. He did."

"There you have it."

"So Boyd's been arrested for that murder?"

"Yeah."

"Did someone frame him?"

"What d'you mean, did someone frame him, Devil?"

"I mean, did someone tell the cops it was him?"

"Yeah… it was" Johnny cleared his throat, "it musta been Limehouse."

"How the fuck would he know bout that?"

"That's… complicated."

"So do they have anythin' on Boyd, or was it just the word? Cause this time it ain't the Sheriff, no-one's gonna give a shit if Limehouse's word is all they got."

"No… Devil, you don't get it. This ain't like when Boyd was arrested for blowin' up Napier's car." Johnny sighed, again. "They dug up the body. They KNOW it was Boyd."

Hearing that was like a punch in the freshly stitched-up side of his back. A stone-like lump sat itself in Devil's empty stomach. "You… you mean…"

"Yeah. It's a solid case. Dug up the body, identified it as Cole, identified the bullet in his chest to be from a gun from Ava's house."

"So he's…"

"Boyd's goin' to prison, Devil. Twenty-five to life, twenty if he's lucky."

Devil closed his eyes. This was like some especially fucked up type of nightmare, so fucked up even his mind was not able to think it up, and his was the mind that had invented Up-Less-World, after all.

"This can't be."

"I'm sorry, Devil. Boyd wants you to come home."

"He does?" Like that even mattered now.

"Yeah. Told me to call you and tell you to come back here. I guess we can use every man we have now."

"Yeah, okay" Devil said, robotically aware of what he was saying, but not feeling it one bit. "I'mma… I'mma hit the road tomorrow first thing. I got busted up a bit yesterday, I'mma need some rest."

"What happened?"

"Just got stabbed."

"Uhm, okay?" Johnny sounded bewildered and Devil didn't even understand why. Boyd was going to prison, for real this time. No Marshals to fuck it up by sleeping with Ava, no false accusations, no elaborate schemes to get to someone behind the arrest. Boyd was going to prison, and he was going to be there for a very long fucking time. And while that shit was going down in Harlan, Devil was stuck in motherfucking Frankfort getting stabbed and shooting people and playing house with a chick who was being stalked by her crazy ex.

"See you tomorrow then" Johnny said, and Devil nodded even though he knew on some level that Johnny couldn't see it.

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

And that was it. Devil was going home, just like that. He was going home, to a Harlan that wasn't home anymore.

* * *

Come to think of it, I ain't terribly happy about this chapter, either. Maybe my standards are too high, or maybe I'm just going crazy. Either way, do tell me what you think, if you think about it at all.

On an entirely other note, I just discovered there's an Uncut version of The Walking Dead season 1... which version did I see on TV at night if there's an Uncut version?! What the fuck? How much more gory can it get?! ?!

(Also, and this is just for the makers of ff. net: I hate how I can't post three exclamation or question marks in a row. I'm a woman of superlatives. How in the hell am I supposed to express myself? ? ? See, cause that just looks stupid.)


	17. Chapter 17

And this is it. This is the end. Dear Lord, it's finished. I can't believe it.

The chapter is quite short. I didn't really want to artificially prolong it, I ain't never done it, not with this story, and I'm not gonna start now. If the word count is high, it's because at the end of the chapter (and the story) I'd like to say a few things, as is my custom. Beforehand I wanna thank all them lovely reviewers, and TellatrixForever, whose input gave me inspiration and without whom this story never would have existed in the first place. So, thanx for that.

You don't have to read the explanations at the end, you can skip them and your world will still be whole. Or will it...? (I'm just kidding. It will be. Promise.)

WARNING: Use of the n-word.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

* * *

Chapter 17

* * *

Minutes after ending the phone call, Devil was sitting still on the couch, staring dumbly into space. The prospect of finally going home, after two and a half long months, should have made him happy, but of course it should have been Boyd who'd greet him with a wide smile and some ridiculously long, complicated words as was his custom, and that just wasn't going to happen with Boyd in prison for the next twenty years. The idea of going back and Boyd not being there was not something Devil could grasp.

Devil had always been the kind of person who liked having someone they could follow. He'd tried doing it on his own, and failed miserably, with getting shot in the side only making it into the top five of the worst things that had come out of those tries. No, really it didn't even crack the top three. That's why some would have described his relationship to one Boyd Crowder as just a little codependent, and they would have been right about it. Devil had known Boyd Crowder for so long, had heard talk of him cutting some pervert's balls off through the Brotherhood years before actually meeting him, that imagining a life without him was not anything Devil liked to do. He'd coped just barely in the time where Boyd was first on his religious revelation trip and then his I'm-an-upright-citizen trip, and Devil had seen the changes in Boyd when they'd started working together again.

The most obvious change was, well, Ava. How she'd turned from despising Boyd to loving him, Devil still had no idea how Boyd had managed that, but it was true, and Devil was just a tad bit jealous – not because it was Ava (hell, she was a beauty, and every sane man in Harlan and surroundings had had a minimal crush on her at least once), but because Devil would have wished for something like that himself.

Another change – Boyd stopped talking about moral obligations to get rid of Jews. Devil had always been quite aware that was bullshit, and that Boyd thought it was bullshit, too. Having cut ties with the Aryan Brotherhood before Boyd recruited him, Devil had heard it all, the whole mud people story and everything it entailed, and even when he'd still been an active member of the AB, he hadn't bought into it completely, not ever. None of them had ever even MET a Jew. And even though no-one would ever call Derek Lennox the next Einstein, he was not what you would call stupid, either, and he understood the Jews didn't do shit to anyone. To talk about it like you believed in it was one sure way to lure the dumber or more vicious neo Nazis into doing shit for you, and Devil understood that, too. The end justifies the means, or something. Wasn't that from the bible, too?

One of the more subtle changes that you didn't notice if you hadn't known Boyd for as long a time as Devil had was the way Boyd spoke. Before he'd gotten shot, Boyd Crowder had done everything at an admirable speed. He'd talked fast, walked fast, had seemed like there was an infinite well of energy inside him. After all that had happened ("I'm a man who killed men, and gotten a whole bunch of men killed", Devil still remembered these words to this day, as clear as if they'd been spoken to him just minutes ago), Boyd did everything slower, at a more leisured pace. He'd loved using big words before, but now it sometimes sounded like he drew them out just because he enjoyed the way they felt too much to let them go. It seemed Boyd had gained an entirely new perspective on life and the way it passed you by if you let it. Devil understood some of that. He was disappointed because luring Nazis into doing shit for you had been a lot more profitable than trying to rebuild old Bo's empire.

But Devil also saw the positive effect Boyd's changes had on Devil himself – for one, the Old Boyd would have shot Devil for the attempted betrayal without even blinking an eye. This Boyd was more forgiving, because, (and it was weird because Devil and Boyd had been friends before all those changes, but their friendship had always entailed some underlying uncertainty just beneath the surface because Devil had never known exactly how far he could go with Boyd before the man snapped and cut off his balls) in spite of all these many layers of self-defense Boyd still covered himself with, all the fake smiles and guarded expressions and big words, he was, at least to Devil (and Devil reckoned that Ava had to feel the same way), more transparent now. More palpable. More human.

Long story short, Devil liked this Boyd. He'd liked the old Boyd, but this one? This one he could truly call a friend, if he wanted to. And Devil did want that. What he didn't want was seeing that friend in prison for the rest of his life. With those tattoos he had, if Boyd got mixed up with the wrong folks in jail, he'd be dead. Hell, as known as Boyd and his family name were, Boyd could get killed even if he tried to keep out of everybody's business as hard as he could. Devil had experienced that himself when he'd done his second stint in prison.

Devil had left the Brotherhood almost a decade ago by that time, but of course the heart on his arm was still there, as was the Odin rune on his neck, and everyone he passed saw only that and nothing more. Out of necessity, Devil had hung around the AB folks and Nazis who'd been incarcerated there, and they welcomed him with open arms, having heard of him, the way he'd gained his Honorary Title of "Devil" and who he was currently working for, and that gained him respect he hadn't even needed to ask for.

And then one day, Devil had tried his best to mind his own goddamned business because he knew he only had another three months and then he would be free again if he behaved good, this huge, gigantic nigger, almost seven feet tall, 300 pounds, had attacked him on his way to lunch, and Devil had woken up the next day in the hospital ward with a broken arm, a bruised and swollen throat and a concussion, and he couldn't even remember ever having said anything to the guy. That nigger had seen the tattoos and that had been enough. Devil was told the nigger had tried strangling him even after Devil long since had lost consciousness and that the only reason Devil hadn't died had been because four guards had used their tasers on that nigger at the same time.

When Boyd had been shot and almost killed by his Marshal friend, Devil wouldn't have described himself as heart-broken. If he remembered correctly, his train of thought had followed along the lines of "Shit, where am I gonna get my fuckin' money from now?". Of course he'd gotten used to having Boyd around, watching Star Wars with him and pretending to listen while Boyd rambled on about this book or other. The prospect of Boyd maybe dying or going to jail hadn't filled him with joy. Devil would have been sad, most definitely. But he wouldn't have been heart-broken

Now, though, the prospect of Boyd going to jail for ever, it did break Devil's heart a little. What was he going to do, where was he gonna go when he needed advice now?

Devil was pulled out of his musings by Nina sitting next to him and shoving a plate with meatballs and mashed potatoes in his lap. She still didn't talk to him, and Devil was now too stumped to be even remotely mad about it. There came another problem. Nina. What was he gonna tell her?

Devil needed to leave. He had to go back to Harlan. He just did. He knew that much. Sure, he'd never actually promised anyone anything. But Harlan was his home, and that promise had not needed to be said. It still was there, and Devil had every intention of fucking keeping it.

Of course, that entailed leaving Nina behind. It did, Devil saw no way around it. He would have loved to take her with him, but he couldn't actually go through with that. Nina had a job here, she had a life, and she wouldn't leave with him. He could have tried to explain. But Nina didn't want to talk, and Devil would leave the next day. No time to talk now, there was no time left. Devil knew he would regret it. He could come back some time when situations in Harlan weren't as dire, but that idea relied on Nina still wanting to talk to Devil then, and realistically speaking, chances for that? Weren't too high.

Devil was still too numb to feel any actual pain when he made the decision to leave without telling her. He would have liked to see what would happen if he did tell her now, or if she'd overheard the phone conversation with Johnny, but Devil had an inkling that could have been even worse, The Darkest Timeline kind of worse. Well, Devil wouldn't have lost an arm. (Or, well. Nina HAD made dinner. There were knifes in the kitchen.) But it would have been just as bad.

Devil was already putting together the note he would leave in his mind. Or he was trying, at least. How do you tell the girl you've been living with for the past two months that you need to leave overnight with a fresh, 42-stitches stab wound in your back and most likely will never come back? Devil reckoned that he could hardly tell her the whole story in a letter (because, he didn't have all week to do it), so maybe the devise was, the less details, the better. Keep it short. Eventually they'd forget about each other. If you looked at the way and the point of time they'd met each other (a pretty bad time in their lives for the both of them), the whole thing probably had been doomed anyway.

Nina and Devil sat next to each other on the couch for the rest of the evening, eating their dinner and watching TV in silence. Nina went to bed early, it was Tuesday after all and she had work the next day. Devil wondered whether she'd taken some time off today. Maybe Nina hadn't wanted to work while knowing Devil was getting stitched together by a Mafia doc in someone else's flat after some British dick had tried severing his spinal cord. Devil sighed and allowed himself the small moment of acknowledgement that he was gonna miss her.

Devil dozed on the couch until it was after midnight and he was one hundred percent sure Nina was asleep, since sometimes she liked to read in bed. Moving as silently as he could, Devil started packing his shit. He'd leave at four, two hours before Nina usually got up. She'd never know.

The surrealism of the situation hit Devil like a freight train this time. It was so oddly familiar, packing his shit so he could leave, only this time he was leaving for Harlan and not the other way around… The similarities were oddly final, like he'd kinda come full circle. He had a wound to tend to, he was leaving at night so nobody would see him, and he had a shit load of secrets to carry alongside his hurriedly packed bag. And leaving felt like one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do.

His cell phone buzzed, and Devil was half inclined to just let it ring. What was the point in answering it? Just out of curiosity for who'd call him this late he took a look at the display, and he almost dropped it then, because the caller ID said it was Boyd. Devil fumbled with it in his hurry to answer before Boyd gave up.

"Hello?" he said, out of breath.

"Devil?"

"Boyd…?" And it was Boyd alright. That drawl was not something you easily mistook for someone else.

"Are you okay? Johnny told me you said you'd got stabbed when he called you earlier."

"I'm fine…"

"Was it Quarles, who did this? The stabbin', I mean?"

"Nah…"

"Good. Although I surmise you'll be pleased to hear that Mr. Quarles is now out of the picture, Devil."

Devil blinked into the dimly lit flat. "Out of the… you… Boyd, what the hell!" He took a deep breath. "I thought you was gon' spend the rest of your life in jail!"

"Devil, calm down. It's gon' be okay. Arlo saved me."

"How in the hell would the old man be able to do that? Last time we talked he was talkin' to imaginary wives and not even able to tie his own shoes…"

"He… he did me a great service." Boyd sounded regretful, but still very much like Boyd, and it somehow made Devil feel a lot lighter. "He took the fall for me. Said he was the one, killed Colt."

"… shit. Did he even know what he was sayin'?" Devil sat down on the couch again, because his knees felt wobbly from relief.

"I couldn't tell you, son. Had no chance to speak to him, I was sittin' in an arrest cell while the whole confession was goin' down. He might have felt bad because it was him who gave Limehouse the info in the first place."

"Cause he's crazy an' old an' talks to people who ain't there."

"Cause of that."

"Shit. I just… what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to calm down, and stay put." Boyd said it with a finality that allowed no discussion. Devil couldn't believe it. Now he actually could come home to a Harlan that was kind of okay again, and he was supposed to stay in Frankfort? Fucking Frankfort?

"Boyd. All this shit goin' on down there with you, and you just want me to stay here? I wanna come home" Devil said, and if he sounded a little whiny, that was perfectly acceptable.

"I know you do, son, but the time ain't right" Boyd said, truly sounding sorry. "Just a couple more months, you're doin' great, Devil, and I am very thankful for what you do, I want you to know that."

"I do know that, Boyd. Just… shit. All this sneakin' around, workin' three sides at the same time, lockin' myself in the goddamned bathroom and pretendin' to take a shower every time I wanna call you, it's just…" And that ain't even half of it, Devil thought to himself. "It sucks, man. Shit's gon' give me an ulcer or somethin'."

"Devil, you're doin' great. I know it's hard, but what you're doin' is too important to give it up now. If anythin' happens, if I need you down here, I'mma let you know. Alright, son?"

Devil snorted. If anything happened? How much more DID need to happen, he wanted to ask. But really, it was late, Devil was tired and in pain and it was good news that Boyd had given him, really good news. Boyd was not going to prison, and Devil did not have to leave Nina high and dry without any warning and with no explanation but a note that said he was sorry, bye. (Devil really hadn't gotten any further with that.)

"… alright, I guess. Glad you ain't in prison again."

"You're tellin' me" and Devil could swear he heard Boyd grinning. "Take care, Devil. I will call you in a week."

"Alright. Night, Boyd."

"Good night."

Devil hung up, feeling like this talk had been way too short. He wanted more explanation. Why had Arlo taken the fall? What had Boyd meant when he'd said that Quarles was out of the picture? And if that meant that Quarles was dead or at the very least not in the business any more, why in the hell was Devil still in Frankfort then? Hadn't he fulfilled his purpose?

"Who's Boyd?"

Devil jumped almost a foot into the air and jerked around. "Jesus Christ!" he said, his heart hammering. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"Devil?" Nina looked sleepy where she stood next to the bedroom door, sleepy and confused, but also determined. "Who's Boyd?"

"I…"

Devil opened his mouth, and then he closed it again, because he knew this wasn't just the simple question of who Boyd was, it was so much more and he had no idea where to start.

"You wanted to leave?" Nina asked, and she was hurt, it was obvious.

"I… yeah."

Nina lumbered over to the couch and sat down heavily beside him. She yawned.

"I think we need to talk" she said.

No shit, Devil thought. There was so much to say. But Devil had nowhere to go, so he reckoned they had all night to talk, and they would use it. No more secrets, he thought. And somehow, that notion filled him with almost as much excitement as going home had.

* * *

THE END (of Part 1)

* * *

As I'd said, the first tries to write this chapter ended up with nothing but a huge, gigantic, steaming pile of shit. I wanted Nina to listen in on Devil's conversation with Johnny and to confront him about it, and I wanted them to talk THEN, but honest to God, I couldn't get the words right. The Darkest Timeline joke was not a joke. I meant it. Had I posted what I'd written instead of starting over, it would have been BAD. Like, really, really bad. No-one would have lost their arm and replaced it with a bionic one (as hot as Evil Jeff is), but I might've lost my credibility as a writer. And my respect for myself as a writer.

So I started over, and instead of having Devil and Nina have a big fall-out, I let Devil reminisce about Boyd and the changes Boyd went through, since I hadn't done that before, and these changes had to have thrown Devil for a loop back then. It wasn't initially planned when I gave the chap another try, but I got the flow back while writing it and so I just went with what I had. I think it turned out okay.

Now for those of you who might've wondered about the name: The Penny in the Parking Lot is a quote from the song "You Lie" by The Band Perry. The exact quote is: "You lie like a penny in a parking lot, it just comes way too natural to you", and I reckoned that, for a story where Devil is basically a liar throughout the whole thing, that fits pretty perfectly. The Understudy, well, that idea came to me really spontaneously when I wrote that line in the first chapter and I thought, mh, well, maybe sub titles for the stories would be cool. That was the point when everything started coming together, all the bits and pieces of ideas I had in mind and flying around on post-it's in my room. See, in this first part Devil is the understudy, playing a part that ain't his. Now, with the ending of Part 1, and the last paragraph illustrates that quite nicely (oh yeah, I'm pleased with myself), Devil's part as the understudy ends.

And yes, a Part 2 is in process, as is a Part 3. You might have to wait a while, but a Part 1 warrants sequels. What they'll be about? When Devil will return to Harlan? You're just gonna have to wait and see.

Have a nice day!


End file.
